


Not a Magic Land

by filistinist, Jell



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Department of Mysteries, Fantasy, Fractured Fairy Tale, HP: Epilogue Compliant, M/M, Romance, Wizard of Oz References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-05-28 01:19:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 26,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6308668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/filistinist/pseuds/filistinist, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jell/pseuds/Jell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You never know who you'll bump into in the Department of Mysteries. For example, your old opponent, the one the whole world assumes is dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Не Волшебная страна](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/183343) by Jell. 



The musty, dust-filled air smelled like a thunderstorm. A purple Quick Quotes Quill was skipping briskly over a parchment, leaving a trail of dark green-tinted ink. The old, gray-haired Unspeakable—Mr. Long—was dictating methodically in an empty, expressionless voice: "the most recent observations indicate... do not contradict the presence of... the subject states..." Every now and then he smoothed down the short hair sticking out at the back of his head and adjusted his glasses nervously.  

Lucius was not listening to him. He stared mindlessly at the wall opposite—he would have to re-read it all in any case, before putting his signature on the parchment. He decided that looking directly at the Unspeakable would be excessive. The man was already ill at ease, alone in the company of a former Death Eater, without a guard. 

"You can roll down your sleeve, Mr. Malfoy," Long said, "we are done for today. I'll show the results to the..."--he hesitated--"the researchers. We will ask you to come back, if necessary."  

Lucius buttoned his cufflink and straightened the sleeve of his robe. His participation in the research of the Dark Lord's Mark was an unpleasant obligation. But the results could have a positive effect on how the wizarding world viewed him, and also influence the fates of many of his less fortunate colleagues.  

He didn't quite understand what the Unspeakables were searching for. The Mark disappeared after the Dark Lord's death. And yet they were still checking something, tracing the scar with their wands, asking questions about the Marking ritual, about the sensations in the Mark when the Dark Lord summoned him... how he himself could be summoned... the rumors about the Mark among the Death Eaters... what the Dark Lord himself said about it. A single day should have been enough to learn all this, and yet they called him back to the odious Department of Mysteries again and again, and asked him the same questions over and over, only rephrasing them slightly. Apparently something was not adding up for them. 

"Mr. Malfoy, can you check if I recorded everything correctly?" Long turned the parchment towards him. 

He had to read everything carefully—a single wrong word could mean a death sentence for an innocent man. Although... was there anyone innocent among the Death Eaters? With rare exceptions, they all came to the Dark Lord themselves, willingly, no—eagerly. They took the Mark, believing it to be a symbol of his absolute trust, and then slavishly fulfilled his every command. Fools. 

The report was scientifically dry and dispassionate—as it should have been. And yet for some reason, as Lucius read it, his vision darkened and his breathing became labored. At one point he even gave in, and, disregarding the rules of decency, opened his shirt collar. He had never been able to get rid of his fear of the Dark Lord, just as he could never get used to his presence. The words swam in front of his eyes, the lines began to dance... it was so hard to concentrate! 

"The scar looks the same as usual, residual manifestations of Dark magic are gradually diminishing. It has been suggested that the influence of the Morsmordre could increase if the bearer began to practice Dark magic. Unfortunately, due to the Wizengamot's decision, this is currently impossible to verify." Interesting... but most likely it meant nothing. He read to the end with some effort, then glanced over the whole report again.  

"Everything is correct, Mr. Long." Lucius took the quill and signed. 

"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy." The man checked the parchment one more time, and put it away in a desk drawer. "We are finished for today. I will walk you out." 

The dark corridor looked as if it had been cut out of a cliff. The black stone walls were free of any decorations, save for a few torches. Their flames burned steadily, but did not produce enough light. Lucius could barely make out Long's back as he walked behind him. They kept going, as if through a labyrinth—endless turns, mysterious passageways, and doors with no distinguishing signs on them. It was all arranged in such a way as to confuse anyone who would end up in the Department of Mysteries. There was a noise somewhere to the right of him, and a huge black dog jumped out in front of Lucius; for a moment their eyes met. The dog froze, raised its hackles, bared its enormous fangs, and growled deeply.  

His heart skipped a beat, but not from fear. It couldn’t be— _Black!_ The dog growled again and ran on down the hallway. But it didn't have time to get far—it was grabbed by the collar by the Unspeakable who was hurrying after it. The silence of the corridors was shattered by yelps and barks. The dog twisted its head, braced its paws, and tried to bite the Unspeakable, but all in vain—he held on too tightly, and dragged it slowly into one of the side corridors.  

It seemed that the Unspeakables had been able to get Black out of the Veil and were keeping him here against his will. Obviously doing research, as usual. A shudder ran through Lucius. Who knew, maybe they had similar plans for him as well. To put him in a cage and run experiments on him, analyze him, cut him to pieces, crack open his memories. He felt like the walls were closing in on him, the ceiling seemed to press down, and there was suddenly not enough air. His knees trembled traitorously, a cold sweat broke out on his forehead. Lucius took a deep breath with difficulty.  

"Come along!" Long called back to him. 

The claustrophobia attack ended just as quickly as it began. Lucius wiped his brow with a handkerchief and hurried after Long. After a few steps he was next to him. 

"Mr. Long," he mustered his courage to inquire, "I didn't think that the Unspeakables performed experiments on domestic animals..." 

The other man glanced at him sideways with his transparent, pale-blue eyes.  

"Sometimes it is necessary. Besides, that is not just a dog..." 

 _It's an animagus_ , Lucius continued in his thoughts. 

"It's a Grim. Perhaps you recall the legend?" 

"I remember it." He almost smiled. "It's believed to be a mythical being, a harbinger of swift death to anyone who sees it." 

Long laughed nervously. 

"You could say that. Sometimes they call it the servant of Death. But the reality is much more prosaic. It's just a black dog, endowed with certain magical properties. It feels the approach of death and can instantaneously move through space. Something like Apparition, only more crude—it seems that it never knows in advance where it will end up next time." 

"And in all other respects—it's just an ordinary dog?" Lucius raised an eyebrow. 

"We are still investigating," the other answered dryly, signaling with his whole demeanor that the conversation was over. 

 _He's lying. Definitely lying. It's Black._ Lucius was absolutely certain that he would be able to recognize his wife's cousin in any guise. And besides, it all fit together too neatly--Black Dog, Department of Mysteries, and Death. _I wonder, was Harry Potter informed of his godfather fate?_

Long came out into a dark circular chamber with a multitude of closed doors, and turned to face him. 

"Well then, Mr. Malfoy, good-bye. If we have any new questions, we will send you an invitation." 

 _An invitation that you can't refuse._ Lucius smiled bitterly. 

"Thank you, Mr. Long." He bowed slightly. 

The other man opened a door, and Lucius exited into the empty corridor which led to the lifts. The door shut silently behind him. 

Fortunately he was alone in the lift. He had almost got used to the sideways glances, but it was still unpleasant to listen to the whisperings and to subconsciously expect an attack. Out of all the known Death Eaters, he was the only one that potential vigilantes could get their hands on. The rest of them were either on the run or in Azkaban. He was able to convince Draco to go on a trip abroad right after their trial. He had no business staying here. Too dangerous. 

"Atrium," announced the melodious feminine voice. 

The grate of the lift opened and Lucius stepped out. Now he had to hurry—there were too many people. Doing his best to ignore everyone, he picked up his wand at the security desk. A surly witch in round glasses almost threw it at his face. A useless piece of wood—there were so many tracking and restricting charms on it that he had to account to the Ministry for practically every Accio and Colloportus. He took a fireplace leading out to the street, turned into a quiet alley and, making sure that no one could see him, activated a portkey. He wasn’t allowed to apparate. 

All these restrictions were driving him out of his mind. He understood that barely any time has passed since the end of the war, and that he should consider himself fortunate to have any freedom of movement in the first place. They didn't really want that much from him—money for the restoration of Hogwarts, information about his former colleagues and an opportunity to research the Dark Lord's Mark. And even his punishment wasn't that bad—the restriction on his magic, the need to provide explanations for the spells he used, the prohibition from working at the ministry and the ban on apparition. Mere trifles compared to even a month in Azkaban. But in reality it was all so unbearably degrading that he was beginning to doubt this.  

He ended up right in front of the Malfoy Manor porch. The protective charms touched him and drew back immediately, recognizing him as the master of the house. Lucius took a deep breath, absorbing the familiar scent of flowers: roses, dahlias, asters... Narcissa always took special care of the garden, and even the war could not prevent her from looking after the flowers. Lucius slowly went up the steps to the porch, ran his hand over a marble column and turned to glance over the park in front of the house. No one would believe that only three months ago complete destruction reigned here, but traces of it were visible to anyone who had seen the Manor before. Many of the old trees—some of them planted back in the time of Brutus Malfoy—had perished. It still wasn't clear what happened to them—maybe the mere presence of the Dark Lord destroyed them, maybe someone had used them to test some curses or potions. Narcissa had ordered new saplings at the first opportunity, but the traditional appearance of the park was irreparably altered. Malfoy Manor would never be the same. 

The door opened in front of Lucius, and he entered the house. The usual silence reigned all around. The clock across from the door struck three in the afternoon. He had to change for dinner. Custom dictated that it should have been served an hour ago, but not when the master wasn't home. He went upstairs to his bedroom and took off the distasteful official robes. They were too simple for his liking, but it was indecent for someone in his position to flaunt his wealth. Right now it seemed to him as if the millennium-old dust of the Department of Mysteries had eaten into the fabric. Lucius glanced at a mirror and immediately looked away. He couldn't bear looking at himself. He was so much thinner, older, haggard. But it's all right, soon this nerve-wrecking business with the Ministry will be over, and he could regain his previous luster. But how could he escape the haunted look in his own eyes? Sometimes he would get the feeling that he died in Azkaban after all, and the Dark Lord dragged out nothing more than an empty husk, which continues to impersonate Lucius Malfoy out of habit.  

 _This is all nonsense_... he is alive, free, and these moping thoughts are utter drivel, and nothing more. He just has to get ahold of himself. Finish this business with the Ministry once and for all, get permission to leave the country, take Narcissa with him and go on a trip around the world. So that he would no longer have to see the repulsive snouts of the mudbloods and muggle-lovers who were currently ruling the wizarding world of Britain. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Narcissa was waiting for him at the table. Lucius kissed her proffered hand politely, then touched his lips tenderly to his wife's cheek. For a moment he was wrapped up in the delicate scent of her perfume. Narcissa smiled slightly, pressed closer to him and sighed.  

"Is everything all right?"  

"Everything is the same as usual."  

Lucius stepped away from her and made himself comfortable at the head of the table. Immediately a plate of hot soup appeared in front of him. Only then did he realize how hungry he really was.  

They ate in silence. Lucius was too tired to make meaningless small-talk, and it was not customary to discuss serious matters during dinner. Narcissa was of the same mind as him. She only mentioned that a letter from Draco had arrived—he had decided to stay in Spain for a few more days. It wasn't until they started dessert—wonderful strawberries in cream—that Lucius made up his mind to talk.  

"Do you remember your cousin?"  

Narcissa stilled with the spoon halfway to her lips, and lifted her eyes up to meet his.   

"Which one?" She asked impassively, "If you remember, I have five of them."  

Actually, he didn't remember. Regulus had died too long ago, as did Evan. The other cousins on her mother's side—Ferdinand and Josef—never left France.   

"The blood traitor."  

She raised an eyebrow slightly.  

"Do you mean Sirius? Of course I remember him. Why do you ask? Did something happen?"  

"That dog, his animagus form, did it have any identifying marks?"  

Narcissa put down the spoon and asked for a cup of black tea. Taking advantage of the pause, Lucius ordered a glass of brandy. Narcissa glanced at him with disapproval, but said nothing. Perhaps she hoped that a drink would make him more talkative.   

"Why are you interested in this? Besides, you should remember yourself. Better than I," she added coldly.  

"I do remember, but still... you are his cousin."  

"You know that we were never close. Especially after he got involved with Potter... And again, why the sudden interest in him? You saw a black dog and decided that it must be Sirius?" She smiled coldly.  

Lucius sipped from the glass that had appeared on the table. 

“Something like that...” 

“As far as I understand, he died. Even the Ministry and the goblins acknowledged it, otherwise Potter would've never been able to touch the Black vaults.” 

“I saw how he died. That wasn't... an ordinary death.” 

“So you think he could have come back? From the Veil of Death?.. Highly doubtful.” 

“Doubtful, but not impossible.” 

She twirled her cup thoughtfully. 

“I just don't know. I don't know what this Veil is. They say that those who fall into it are simply transported to the world of the dead, and that means a physical death. And resurrection, as everyone knows, is impossible.” 

“They say...” Lucius smirked, “that doesn't mean that it's actually true.” 

“Let's suppose that you actually truly saw Sirius. So what? For the past twenty years, if I'm to believe your words, you were enemies. So what business could you possibly have with him? Let Potter deal with him, or Andromeda. Although she was never that close to him either.” 

“Think for yourself—if no one knows that Black is alive, if he's locked up, experimented on—how do you think Potter will react if, say, I were to bring him his dear godfather, alive and well?” 

“If I were you, I would rather think about how _I_ would react—to you trying to get stuck in another shady scheme,”--her voice was now laced with a hint of steel--”and you getting involved with Sirius again.” 

“I have no intention of starting any scheme—it's not that kind of situation.” He gave her a conciliatory smile. “Right now I just want to understand, is it him or not. Or if the tale that this Mr. Long told me is actually true.” 

Narcissa pursed her lips. 

“I don't like this.” 

“I don't either.” 

Lucius emptied his glass in one gulp. 

   
 

The library was cold. Lately Lucius rarely came here—it was too painful to see the empty gaps in the shelves. It felt like the Ministry rats took everything except textbooks and some reference volumes that were of no interest to anyone. The old grimoires collected by his ancestors had been confiscated by the Aurors to “determine their potential danger.” All that remained were a few rare books that physically could not be removed from the Manor grounds. They had placed surveillance charms on a couple of them, but left the rest alone as “unfit for being used in the Dark Arts.” Fortunately it was one of these tomes that should have contained the information he needed. 

The first edition of “The Concise Compendium of Medieval Artifacts” was a very rare book. His father once said that it was actually the only copy left. The compendium was written in times immemorial by an ancestor of his, Severus Malfoy—that must be why a copy was preserved at Malfoy Manor. All subsequent editions, according to his father, were published in abridged form. 

Lucius found the compendium easily and arranged it carefully on a table—the book was very fragile, in spite of the protective charms placed on it. “The Archway of Death”--the book immediately opened to the page he needed. A schematic diagram, a short history of its creation... no, its discovery. When and by whom the Archway was created was never determined. It was found by chance in the beginning of the fourteenth century, in the mountains of Scotland. According to remaining lore, the ancient Picts worshiped it, believing it to be the gate to the kingdom of death. Lucius smiled—not much had changed since then.  

In the middle of the fifteenth century the famous mage Gilbert of Edinburgh examined the Archway, using muggles for his experiments. He would send them through the veil, and then measure the magical disturbance. In the end he ran out of muggles, without achieving any concrete results. After this Gilbert postponed his research for a few years, as he developed a magical device which would help him peek behind the veil. Finally, he traveled to the Archway again, but never returned. His diary was found, charred, near the site. From these notes it was clear that Gilbert actually managed to peek into the Archway. He then decided to try to enter it and then to return with the help of a spell that he had developed, but obviously had no luck. 

The research did not stop there. It turned out that Gilbert had some followers, who combined their efforts to continue the search for a way to enter the Archway without remaining there forever. There was some information that suggested that one brave soul actually succeeded. His friends used the Dark Arts to get him out of the Archway. But in the end he went insane and never could tell anyone what happened to him. 

Lucius closed the book. This meant that... it was possible, theoretically. And apparently Black lost his mind, if the Unspeakables were keeping him. Interesting. But first he should make sure that this really was Black. He went up to his study and took a pensieve out of a secret cupboard. For a moment he considered using Narcissa's wand, but decided that it would be easier to tell the Ministry that he forgot where he left his cane, rather than convince his own wife that he wasn't thinking about Sirus Black at all, much less that he had no intention of getting involved in any dangerous scheme. And he really had no intention of getting into anything like that! It's just that he needed to understand... 

Lucius pulled out a silvery strand of memories and lowered it into the pensieve bowl. A moment later he was once again in the dark corridors of the Department of Mysteries. The black dog rounded a corner right in front of his double. Lucius walked around it and took a closer look. Thick, matted black fur, long tail... The same breed, the same height... it's hard to tell one dog from another. If you don't know what to look for. Black should have a clump of white fur near his spine. There was almost no light in the hallway, but Lucius still managed to make out the dog's back, and he surfaced from the memories with relief. Yes, it really was Black.  

He sank slowly into a chair, staring at the pensieve with unseeing eyes. _What now?_ How can he use this new information? Blackmail the Unspeakables? It was more likely to backfire. Write to Potter—anonymously, obviously— _but what's the point of that?_ Now, if he were to bring Black to Potter himself, on a leash... The gratitude of the conqueror of the Dark Lord was worth quite a bit. But the risk... the risk was too high, and a conflict with the Unspeakables wasn't likely to turn out well. _Leave it all the way it is?_  

Lucius jumped up and started pacing the room. He couldn't. He just couldn't—that's all. After everything that was between them, to leave Black in the hands of those soulless scientists felt like sacrilege. The easiest thing would be to write to Potter after all, and let him deal with his godfather and the Department of Mysteries. That boy had a lot more resources, by far, than Lucius. Potter will succeed, of course, if he believes him—and if the Ministry doesn't deceive him by telling him one of their usual likely stories. An anonymous note or a letter from Lucius Malfoy, against the word of the Unspeakables. Ridiculous.  

Sneak into the Department of Mysteries himself and kidnap Black? He laughed out loud. _No, leave such heroics to the_ _Griffindors_. He definitely wasn't planning on stepping into the same trap twice.  

Lucius sat down slowly and pressed his fingers to his temples. Alright, what does he have? The Unspeakables pulled Black out of the Archway. How? why?-- _that's not important right now_. What's important is that they got him out, and that he seems to be stuck in his animagus form. Stuck, or is he hiding, or being forced to stay in it? All questions to which there were no answers. It's highly probable that he's not in his right mind since his return, and the Unspeakables simply can't establish contact with him. If that's true, than Lucius can try to put himself into play, and under the pretext of helping and his knowledge of Dark magic, get to Black. In this case, he can just try to offer them his help. 

Lucius took a clean piece of parchment from a desk drawer, dipped a quill in the inkwell, and then froze for a moment, figuring out to whom it would be best to address the letter. He didn't have that many choices. Before a dark drop could slip off the quill and mar the parchment, he began to write the letter: 

_Dear Mr. Long,_  

_If you recall, this afternoon I was a witness to a curious scene in the halls of the Department of Mysteries. You informed me that the Department had a Grim at it's disposal. I must admit that I was fascinated by the animal. As you can probably guess, the Dark Lord had always been interested in various aspects of death. Naturally he feared it, but he also studied it, and as he did, he shared the results of his investigations with his faithful followers, me among them._  

_Furthermore, I would risk to hazard that I am possibly the only one among the remaining followers of the Dark Lord who is aware of the results of his investigation of death. In particular, I know quite a bit about the Grim and could assist you in your analysis of it. I am by no means putting into question the competence of your colleagues, but the uniqueness of my knowledge allows me to assert that my cooperation would be of material benefit to the Department of Mysteries._  

_L. Malfoy, August 22, 1998, Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire._

Lucius re-read the letter one more time, put an ink-drying charm on it, and walked to the window. With a snap of his fingers he summoned his eagle-owl, and just a minute later it was making itself comfortable on his arm, shuffling its feet nervously and turning its head in irritation. Lucius set it down on a table and petted its horned head tenderly. His old friend (unlike the peacocks, for instance) safely made it through the chaos that dominated the Manor for the past year. Sometimes it seemed as if he could foretell where his master was about to send him. This time as well—he was demonstrating his displeasure at the upcoming trip with his whole appearance. He disliked the Ministry intensely. Lucius rolled up the parchment, addressed it and sealed it with a spell. The owl held out its leg, allowing the letter to be tied to it, hooted dolefully and, with a flap of its wide wings, flew out the window.  

_Well then... the deed is done_. Lucius picked up the papers which the owl had knocked to the floor, and went down to the library. It might benefit him to resurrect the legend of the Grim in his memory. 


	3. Chapter 3

It was evening by the time the owl returned, angry and ruffled. As soon as Lucius untied the note from its leg, it bit his hand maliciously and flew off to the owlery. It seems that the poor bird had not been fed at the Ministry.

The letter itself was short, but it inspired hope: “We will expect you tomorrow by twelve o'clock.”

That was all—no signature, no questions, no explanations. Although it was Long's handwriting. Lucius threw the letter into the fireplace.

The next day, early in the morning, he was already standing in the Ministry Atrium. The guard measured him with an expressionless gaze, took the wand that Lucius handed to him, checked something in a list, and gave it back.

“You are allowed to keep it with you, Mr. Malfoy,” he said coldly, “You may pass.”

Now this was surprising—by a special injunction, as a former Death Eater he was forbidden from carrying a wand inside the Ministry.

But the surprises didn't end there. Long met him right at the door of the Department of Mysteries, and he looked even more twitchy than usual.

“Happy to see you, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Mutual, Mr. Long.” The man held out a sweaty hand, and Lucius shook it gingerly, barely restraining a grimace of disgust.

“Your letter was very interesting to... us.” Long let him inside and led him through the endless corridors. “Unfortunately, I'm not authorized to speak to you on the subject of your interest, so you will be... working... with Mr. Grey.”

These pauses in Long's speech sounded suspicious, as did the overly simple last names—Long, Grey—obviously pseudonyms.

“In any case, I think your new... sphere of activity... will not prevent us from continuing the investigation of Voldemort's Mark.”

Lucius winced slightly.

“Have we not finished?” he inquired.

“No... that is, I haven't gotten the results yet. But if you are going to interact with... certain new magical powers, I will naturally need to investigate any possible changes.”

Long stopped, opened a door that was barely visible in the wall, ushered Lucius through, and closed it behind him, remaining in the hallway himself.

Mr. Grey turned out to be a “powerful” wizard, in the literal sense of the word. He rose from behind a heavy desk, demonstrating his enormous height—about six and a half feet. For a moment he reminded Lucius of Hagrid—he was just as wide in the shoulders. Except unlike the Hogwarts half-giant, Grey was neatly shaven; his thick ash-colored hair was braided into a thick queue.

“Mr. Malfoy, come in, please,” he said in a thick bass and held out his hand.

“Mr. Grey, if I'm not mistaken?”

Lucius came closer to the desk and shook the man's giant hairy paw awkwardly.

“You're not mistaken,” the man nodded gravely and offered him a seat.

The chair was just as uncomfortable as the one in Long's office. Lucius drew himself up and placed his hands on the wooden armrests.

“So, you're interested in our Grim,” Grey began without any preamble.

His cold light-green eyes stared intently, as if he was trying to read his thoughts.

“Yes. I'm interested.”

“Why?”

Lucius crossed his legs.

“You see, death...”

Gray frowned and slapped the table with his hand. The crystal writing implements on it tinkled pathetically.

“Just don't lie to me. If I decide that your level of knowledge is excessive, I'll simply erase your memory, and everything will go back to square one. As for the Grim, you won't even remember enough to think about it. So don't lie, or our conversation will end very quickly.”

This was definitely not according to plan. Of course, losing his memory was not as unpleasant as being locked up in the Department of Mysteries, but still... Lucius sighed and interlocked his fingers in front of him.

“Fine. I know that it's Black.” Grey snorted. “Sirius Black, I mean.”

“Why such certainty?”

“I know his animagus form very well. No other dog like this exists.”

“But how did you come by such knowledge? As far as I know, you were not friends, and your family connection is too distant to explain such trusting relations between the two of you.”

“I'm afraid it's not relevant to the matter at hand.” Gray wanted to say something, but Lucius stopped him. “It's truly not relevant, but if you don't believe me, I think that my wife or... Mr. Potter can identify him. I don't believe there are any other living witnesses left.”

“And if I tell you that it's not Black?”

“I repeat, that is impossible. Black's animagus form has several identifying marks. Besides, judging from our brief meeting in the hallway, it seems that he recognized me.”

“He didn't attack, but growled...” Grey rubbed his thick nose thoughtfully with the tip of a finger. “Yes, that does make a certain amount of sense.”

He was quiet for some time, then tossed his head.

“Very well. Let's suppose that it is Black. Why do you care? After all, in some sense you even had a hand in his... demise.”

“Me? No. He had to butt in where he wasn't expected, and ended up Cursed by his own cousin. Black's 'demise' was never in my interests.”

“But why not?”

“The last living male of his line.... Even though he stuck out like a white thestral in his family, blood is still thicker than water.”

“You're fibbing again.” Gray leaned back in his chair, and it squeaked pitifully. “Very well. I understand that you were connected by certain relations... maybe when you were young...”

“I must ask you to refrain from such sordid hints!” Lucius tried to make his voice sound as cold as possible.

“No need to be embarrassed. Who hasn't done something like that in their youth, we're none of us angels.”

Lucius barely restrained himself from grinding his teeth.

“Stop. This is not relevant at all!”

“And that's where you're very mistaken, Mr. Malfoy.” He sighed loudly. “Actually, I knew nothing about this Grim being Siruis Black, until I heard it from you just now. Maybe it's not true. There's also the possibility that only his body returned from the land of death, and even that—in that awkward animagus form.”

“But isn't there a spell...”

“Yes, there is, and now we will definitely try it. But something tells me that it won't have any effect. What if his human essence was left behind the Veil? Right now, he is a Grim—he can instinctively shift to the location of people who must die soon. Actually, this phenomenon is what we were investigating.”

“But now you can try to bring him back. Get in touch with Potter, Black was very attached to him...”

“Of course, of course...” Grey drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the desk. “Come on, I'll show him to you.”

“I don't see any point in that.”

For some reason the thought of meeting Black again made him feel ill at ease.

“There is a point.”

Grey rose from the desk decisively.

  
  


Lucius was completely lost in the Department hallways. He was barely keeping up with Grey, who, with his longer strides, was marching unhurriedly in front. He seemed to be paying no attention to Lucius, but there was no doubt that if he so much as tried to fall behind, the man would be by his side in an instant. They walked further and further, making turns, going up and down stairs; sometimes it seemed that they were going in a circle, since there was nothing to orient by, only the dark walls pressing in on all sides and occasional smokeless torches.

A grate appeared in front of them. Grey waved his wand and it rolled up into the ceiling. The walls of the corridor beyond it were composed of smooth, dark-blue blocks of stone. Grey trailed his fingers over them, as if searching for a particular stone by touch, and then tapped one of the stones twice with his wand. A narrow passageway appeared to their left. Grey barely fit into it. Finally they came out into a semicircular chamber, divided in half by a silver grate. Another Unspeakable was sitting next to it, holding a golden rod in his hands; he didn't even turn around when they came in.

“This is Mr. Tin,” Grey introduced the Unspeakable in a low voice.

Lucius hadn't noticed Black at first. He was lying in the darkest corner of the cage. For some reason the sight made him stagger, and he gripped Grey's arm unconsciously.

“Unpleasant associations, Mr. Malfoy?” Grey smirked and Summoned a stool from the other side of the room. “Have a seat for now.”

 _Yes, associations. That's what it must be._ Bile began to rise in his throat.

“Tin!” The man finally looked away from the rod, which he seemed to be tuning, and turned to face them.

“Oh, Grey... What is it? And why is... this one... here?” he frowned, which made him look like a pug.

“We got some new information. Let's try something now...” Grey waved his wand, and a white-blue ray of light hit Black. Lucius held his breath. Nothing.

But now Black noticed them. He jumped to his feet and ran up to the grate; he was looking right at Lucius.

“Just as I thought—it didn't work.”

“Grey, I don't know what you were imagining, it's just a dog.”

“But Mr. Malfoy here insists...”

Lucius was no longer listening to them. He got up and came closer to the grate. Black bared his teeth and growled. He looked lousy—filthy, emaciated; his fur matted, tail hanging limply, eyes swollen; the look in them wild, haunted. _This is..._

“Black, Black, do you remember me?” Lucius whispered.

He looked into the dog's eyes, hoping to find an answer there—not a single glimmer of intelligence. For some reason his heart contracted with pain. Somehow it felt completely wrong. All wrong. Black behind bars, as well as this sudden surge of pity. It shouldn't be happening. Without fully realizing what he was doing, he put his hand through the grate and carefully stroked Black's head. He growled even louder, but didn't move an inch.

“You remember. You do remember.” He swallowed the lump rising in his throat.

His hand shook, but he continued to pat the dog's head. A moment—then Black pushed his head through the bars and pressed his nose into Lucius's knee.

Lucius couldn't understand what was happening to him. It was all long dead, twenty years of hatred and contempt could not be reversed in just a second. But there it was... there... Lucius sank to the floor, grabbed the dog's head with both hands and pressed his forehead to it. The smell of wet dog swamped his nose, but he didn't care any more. It was Black. And Black was alive, so nothing else mattered.

“Mr. Malfoy!” Grey's deep voice brought him back to reality.

He didn't want to let go of Black.

“Well, I think the confrontation you staged was a success,” said Tin with a snort, “But this doesn't mean anything!”

“It does, it does mean something! If this was a Grim, it would have reacted to Mr. Malfoy the same way it does to you. But you see, it didn't even try to bite him.”

“Maybe it has a special liking for Death Eaters?”

“Sure, it was because of special liking that it growled at him at first.” Grey grinned, then added in a serious voice: “I'm leaning toward the idea that this really is Sirius Black, he just isn't able to turn human again because of mental confusion.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“First I'd like to discuss an idea with Spot. Mr. Malfoy, it's time for you to go, you have been very helpful.”

Lucius got up reluctantly, not removing his hand from Black's head until the last moment. When he finally did, the dog began to whimper quietly.


	4. Chapter 4

Narcissa was waiting for him in the smaller drawing room. She knew. He saw this right away in her cold gaze and the irritated thin line of her lips. Lucius sat down next to her on the sofa and covered her hand with his. She sighed.

“Narcissa, I'm not risking anything...” he began.

She smiled bitterly.

“It's not the first time that I hear this from you. And where has it gotten us? Lucius, sometimes I think that you are incorrigible.” She turned her head towards him. Her eyes looked tired.

“This time there really isn't any danger. Imagine, they didn't even know that it was Black they got their hands on!”

“But naturally you enlightened them.” Her voice was laced with sarcasm. She turned away.

“Narcissa, stop it. It's all for the best. Black...”

“Oh, of course, Sirius will be grateful to you. How could he not? Isn't that what you're trying to accomplish, my dear? That he would be indebted to you!”

_She can't possibly think this? What is this? Jealousy?_

“My dear, you're delusional. I'm just trying to gain the support of Potter and the Ministry. Then we can finally get out of here.”

She shook her head.

“But think it over for yourself! It's been twenty years. Don't tell me you're still jealous!”

“Jealous?!” she laughed. “No Lucius, not for a long time.”

“Then what's the matter? After all, he is your cousin.”

She turned to him and caressed his cheek with the palm of her hand.

“Yes, my cousin. If he's still alive... well, that _is_ for the best. But every time you start talking about him, I get a bad premonition. I beg you, please stay far away from this business. Let the Ministry, the Unspeakables, Potter—let them deal with it themselves. Without you.”

“Narcissa, I don't want to lose the chance...”

She stopped him by pressing the tips of her fingers to his lips.

“Lucius, you have to agree that things didn't turn out that bad. The most important thing is that we are alive and free. With time all the unpleasantness will be forgotten—it has to be forgotten. The respect will come back, the restrictions will be lifted—it will all be the same as before. Don't try to hurry things along and put yourself at risk again.”

Lucius sprang to his feet.

“What risk are you talking about?! Your 'premonitions' have no basis! I have no intention of getting entangled in anything. I gave them some information. That's all.”

“I hope so...” she said coldly.

  
  


That night he was tormented by nightmares. Lucius woke up covered in sweat, gulping air desperately. His heart thudded wildly against his ribs, his hands shook, but he couldn't remember what the dream was about. He only felt an aftertaste of ashes in his mouth, as if he had swallowed smoke. Lucius got up, opened a window, letting the cool night air into the room, and sat on the windowsill. Just like when he was young... all that was missing was a cigarette.

The garden under his window was submerged in darkness. Only a couple of years ago it was lit all night long by magic lanterns, but the Dark Lord disliked that for some reason, and they had to be removed. The sky was full of stars, but one of them shone the brightest. Sirius...

“Hello old... friend.”

His memory obligingly resurrected the long-forgotten image. The mane of unruly hair, the bright, crazy smile, eyes blazing with blue fire, long lashes, the stubborn “Black family” chin—he was beautiful, insolent, idiotic...

  
  


Graduation at Hogwards. Lucius came there at the insistence of the Dark Lord, and of Narcissa—two of her cousins happened to be graduating—Evan Rosier and Sirius. Although by that time her family did their best to put Sirius out of mind. The traitor had fallen out with his father, mother and brother, ran away from home, trampled on tradition, and was flinging mud at his family from every street corner. People had even begun to shun the Blacks a bit. It was said that Walburga, in a fit of pique, had burned his name off their family tree tapestry. But in any case, Lucius didn't particularly care about that scandal.

The official speeches, the addresses of the Headmaster, Heads of Houses, Ministry representatives and professors—all this went by without getting his attention. _Boring._ But the awards of excellence for graduating students were a different matter. The Dark Lord had asked him to take an especially close look at these, and to pay attention to all of them, not just the Slytherins. Lucius knew the latter well enough as it was. The best among the Griffindors turned out to be someone named Remus Lupin, the Mudblood Lilly Evans, and Potter. The last two, judging by how they were hugging as they congratulated each other, were already an established couple.

In spite of the celebration, the atmosphere at the school was tense—there was a war outside the walls of Hogwarts. But kids will be kids: this was the day they said goodbye to the school, the day they officially entered adult life, and they wanted to celebrate it dramatically, with fanfare, to outshine the graduation parties of all previous years. The official ceremony and the feast finished very quickly, everyone ran off to the common rooms of their Houses, and after enough Firewhiskey, elf-made wine and some sort of disgusting Muggle muck, they began to wander around the school.

Snape went to bed early, saying that if they knew what an excessive consumption of alcoholic beverages at a young age could lead to, they would do the same. He was a bit funny back then... Later on he began to value both the taste of strong, expensive liquor, and to enjoy staying up late by the fireplace. But this was much later.

Narcissa, who almost never drank, overdid it a bit in the wild company of the seventh-years, and wanted to go to sleep. Lucius carried her up to one of the bedrooms himself, and placed some of his family's protective charms on the door to make sure no one would dare disturb his wife. He himself grabbed a bottle of Firewhiskey and went for a walk around the school. By the time he found himself at the Astronomy Tower, he was completely drunk and had no idea what he was doing there. In spite of the warm evening, a strong wind was blowing and it was cold on the platform. He didn't notice Black at first—he was sitting on the parapet and smoking, looking up at the stars.

“Black...”

“Malfoy,” he said without turning, “why don't you go f...”

“I think I'll decide for myself where I need to go.” He sat down next to him, although he himself didn't know why.

Maybe he was too lazy to go back down, maybe he was just bored and wanted to amuse himself, to “poke Black with a wand.”

“You smoke?”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“Muggle shit...”

Black should have become agitated, insulted him, or even started a fight. Instead he just smirked and asked:

“Want some?”

“Sure.”

Black took the cigarette from his own mouth and offered it to him. If Lucius had been sober, he would have refused indignantly, maybe even decked the bastard, but as it was, it didn't occur to him that there was anything off about it. He took a drag and started coughing from lack of practice—he didn't like the taste of the acrid smoke at all. It felt like someone had sprinkled crumbs into his lungs, but his head suddenly cleared. Only it was a little strange... even the stars seemed to shine brighter.

“Rubbish,” he whispered through a coughing fit and gave back the cigarette.

“That's because you don't get it.”

Black took back the cigarette, and took a long, sweet drag with his eyes half closed.

“What are you doing here?”

“What's the point of answering that? It's not like you give a fuck...” he said lazily, blowing a smoke ring.

He was right, of course, but Lucius liked to get answers to his questions.

“You're acting strange.”

“Oh, what am I supposed to be doing—fighting with you?” He suddenly straightened up and looked right at Lucius. “Got any booze?”

“I do.”

Lucius pulled the bottle out of his robes and showed it to him.

“Give it here.”

“Only if you tell me what put you in such a... melancholy.”

Black smirked, stretched his hand out, grabbed the bottle away from him and took a generous swig. He started coughing and immediately took another drag.

“There's nothing to tell—especially not to you.”

“Why not? I don't give a shit about you, you don't give a shit about me...”

“Ha! It's strange that you're even talking to me, aren't I a... what'd they say... a 'traitor',” He put the cigarette out on the stone floor and threw it over the parapet.

“What if that hits someone?”

Black smirked, took a pack out of his pocket, pulled out another cigarette, thought for a moment, then offered it to Lucius.

“You want?”

“Why not.”

It was the Dark Lord who taught him how to start a fire without a wand. The flame this produced was small, not enough to light a fireplace, but it turned out just right for a cigarette. He had no idea why the hell he decided to show off and light up with his finger. Black glanced at him with a new-found respect, but said nothing. The second cigarette went down better then the first, although he still didn't like the taste of the muggle shit at all.

“So, will you tell me?”

Black shrugged and stared at the stars again. In the light of the lone torch his face somehow looked especially beautiful. The Blacks were all rather handsome, no one could say otherwise. All of them tall, stately, with a mad fire in their eyes. Even Narcissa, whom many called an “ice statue,” had enviable spirit. Aristocratic nose, cheekbones, lips... Black parted his slightly, letting out smoke. Lucius looked away.

Black sighed.

“You see, so I have this friend... Shit, I really don't know how to talk about such things! Anyway, it's all rubbish.”

Lucius stayed quiet. Black took another drag.

“We were in school together for seven years... four friends. Now one of them is lying in the common room, drunk into a stupor—not that he needed much to get there. The second went to bed—he hates it when we get sloshed. We lose all appearance of humanity, he says,” he snorted, “The third... and the third, he's got a _girl_.”

“And you're jealous?”

If he were Black, he would have punched anyone in the neck for suggesting something like this. Or he would have called them out on a duel. But Black said nothing, just smiled bitterly and reached for the bottle again.

_Who would have thought—it turns out that Black is gay._ What a nice little piece of news! Lucius considered how to use it best—cause a rift between him and Potter? Make him an outcast? Or... The glistening, half-parted lips beckoned deliciously, and Lucius decided to give in to them. After all, in the worst case, he could simply Obliviate the boy.

The kiss ended up being a bit awkward; he was surprised by his own uncertainty. He merely touched Black's lips with his own carefully, and pressed closer, ready at any moment to spring back or deflect an attack. But Black froze, as if frightened. Lucius could hear his heart beating wildly. Whiskey and bitter smoke is not the best flavor for a kiss, but in that moment it seemed to him that he'd never tasted anything better. Even his most passionate kiss with Narcissa wasn't as fiercely bright as this almost-innocent one with her crazy cousin. God, what was he doing! He was about to move away, when Black stirred, opened his eyes, grabbed him with both hands as hard as he could and began to kiss back. And then it wasn't innocent at all. They were consuming each other, struggling, bumping noses, teeth, tongues, biting each other, and then kissing again, as if possessed.

A very small voice in his head demanded that he stop, remember his wife, his honor, his pride, but he brushed it aside, deafened by the noise of the blood in his ears, blinded by the blue fire of Black's eyes, intoxicated with his smell and taste. They slowly slid down to the floor; after a short struggle Black ended up on top. Lucius tried to push him back, shoved the bottle with his arm, and it fell to the floor with a loud clatter. They both froze, breathing heavily. Black raised himself up on his arms and peered searchingly at his face.

“Malfoy,” he licked his bruised lips nervously, “what do you want?”

This was the stupidest question anyone could possibly ask in a situation like this. Lucius started laughing. He lifted his hips slightly, pressing his erection into the blazing-hot body above him.

“I don't know...” a stupid question deserved an equally stupid answer, “and I don't want to know.”

Their lips met again. A moment later he could feel Black begin to unbutton his robes. His hot hands slid down his chest, brushing his nipples.

“Black, you're insane,” he breathed out.

“Look who's talking!” the other grunted as he latched on to his neck with his lips, then teeth. Painfully, sweetly.

As if in confirmation of his words, Lucius began to tear at his robe. The last thing he needed was to surrender the initiative to an eighteen-year-old pervert!

Now, so many years later, it all seemed like madness, as if someone dosed them with a love potion. The mixture of fresh air, Firewhiskey and the acrid filth that Black was smoking had completely shut down his brain, leaving only pure rage and lust. It was absurd: the starry sky, the stone floor, the windswept platform; at any moment someone could have showed up, and there they were, half-naked, eagerly rubbing their hard pricks against each other and kissing like mad. The romanticism of youth...

When, sticky and dirty, they finally disentangled, and Black rolled off him, panting heavily, Lucius got up quietly, put himself in order, and left without saying a word. As if nothing had happened. He wanted to forget this sudden flare of passion... it was impermissible and illicit. He couldn't.

When he woke up the next morning with an aching head in some empty classroom, the first thing he remembered was Black's crazy eyes. His arms were covered in bruises, he had love-bites on his neck, his lips were swollen—if his wife saw him in that state she would have Cursed him without a second thought. He destroyed all traces of Black's touches, but his mind was still in turmoil. He wanted more...

A week later Narcissa left for a few days to visit her mother, and he, without thinking twice, invited Black over. He didn't hold out much hope that Black would agree to come, he just couldn't have forgiven himself if he hadn't tried. But for some reason the other did accept the invitation, they met—and then it was as if they'd got caught up in a whirlwind.

Sometimes he would think—what does Black need all this for? Can't he find someone else? Was this a twisted way to take revenge on Potter? Was he getting off on this connection with someone who was likely an enemy? Black himself categorically refused to discuss his motives--“Why are you bugging me, Malfoy? Are we fucking? Is it good? Then that's good enough!”--and Lucius left him alone.

There was no love in their relationship. At least definitely not on his side. It was just some forbidden lust, which tickled the nerves pleasantly. The fact that he and Black were on opposite sides of the barricades in a magical war only fanned the flame. Lucius couldn't think about politics when he was with Black. He couldn't think about anything at all, except for the fit body in his arms. But in the end it was the war which drove them apart. He did his best to forget their last argument—it was unexpectedly painful. After that, he simply crossed Black out of his life and his heart, and the other man did the same with him. And this was the right thing to do. It was normal. Their connection lasted only half a year, almost no time at all. It's ridiculous to think that it could have meant anything.

Lucius sighed and stretched his back. The star Sirius winked at him and hid behind a racing cloud.


	5. Chapter 5

He spent all of next day drifting aimlessly through the Manor like a ghost. He fumbled and dropped everything he picked up. He tried reading—the letters swam in front of his eyes. He couldn't work either; he just couldn't concentrate. He even seriously considered taking a Concentration Potion! He didn't dare go for a walk—he was too afraid Narcissa might intercept a letter from the Ministry. When she thought that the safety of the family was at stake, she became utterly intolerable! Intellectually, he understood that it was all silly. It would most likely never occur to the Unspeakables to inform him of anything that had to do with Black's fate. But still he hoped... And he had to admit, if only to himself, that Potter's mythical gratitude was not the only thing at stake for him.

Lucius waited until evening, but no letter came. Narcissa did not bother him with any questions, although she could see the state he was in. She understood everything as it was, without words. Late at night she came into his bedroom, quietly crawled under the blanket, put her cool arms around him, and rested her head on his chest. That night he slept peacefully.

A thunderstorm started close to morning. Lucius was awakened by the peals of thunder, extricated himself from his wife's embrace and came out onto the balcony of an adjoining room. He liked thunderstorms. While he was in Azkaban, thunderstorms reminded him that life still went on outside the thick walls of the prison. He was free now, but somehow he still could not recapture life's flavor. As if he'd lost something forever among those gray walls, saturated with the suffering and madness of their prisoners.

He thought of Black again. The man spent an immeasurably greater time in Azkaban than Lucius, and, unlike him, had been surrounded by Dementors. So how much had he lost? Maybe that black mongrel was really all that was left of Black after Azkaban...

  
  


The letter from the Ministry didn't come until a month later. By that time Lucius was resigned to the thought that the Unspeakables had decided to keep him out of the loop. Yet there was still no information in the newspapers regarding the war hero's triumphant return. Most likely the attempts to bring back Black's mind—if any were even made—were unsuccessful.

When a pompous-looking owl flew through the window of his study and dropped a sealed Ministry envelope on top of the letter he was writing, Lucius assumed that it was Long summoning him for yet another interrogation. But the handwriting turned out to be unfamiliar.

_Dear Mr. Malfoy,_

_The information you provided turned out to be very useful to us. Furthermore, we were able to find corroborating facts from external sources. We would like to invite you tomorrow, on the 23 rd of September, to the Department of Mysteries, to discuss the details of our potential collaboration. If you agree, please let me know as soon as possible._

_Respectfully,_

_Mr. Grey, Senior Research Wizard, Department of Mysteries, September 22 nd, 1998._

The owl had not flown off; it was perched on the back of a visitor's chair and was bouncing from foot to foot impatiently. It must have had instructions to wait for an answer. Lucius looked over the letter again, trying to read between the lines for any hidden meaning. _Facts from external sources:_ were they talking about Potter? _Details of our collaboration:_ they needed something from him. _If you agree: s_ o in principle he could refuse. He fancied he could sense something important and potentially dangerous behind these words. _Curious. Very curious._

Lucius put away the documents he was working on before the Ministry's message arrived, and took out a clean sheet of parchment. Should he agree or not? He looked at the letter one more time. Something told him that he shouldn't give way to his feelings and rush heedlessly to the Department of Mysteries. If he was given a choice, it was best to take advantage of it. He wrote a short note of refusal and sent the owl on its way. 

If he'd miscalculated, he would regret it for the rest of his remaining life. But if not... Lucius smiled.

The unhappy and now slightly ruffled owl returned close to evening. Lucius was sitting on the balcony, sipping brandy and admiring the sunset. The owl threw the letter at him, bit his hand insistently and stared at him with dark accusation in its eyes. It was hungry. 

“Impudent creature,” Lucius mumbled and called for a House-Elf to bring it some owl food. 

It wasn't so much a letter as a short note. 

_Please allow me to visit you tomorrow in your home at three in the afternoon, if convenient. If not, please feel free to suggest a different time. I need to speak to you urgently. Mr. Grey._

Lucius smirked. He had not miscalculated.

He went back into his study, scribbled a hasty “I will expect you tomorrow at the time you proposed,” and handed the note to the owl, who was now slightly torpid after her filling supper.

  
  


At three o'clock exactly Grey Apparated to the gates of the Manor. A House-Elf led him into a parlor.

“Mr. Malfoy...”

“Mr. Grey... or whatever your name is...” They shook hands.

Grey lowered himself into an armchair, which was somewhat tight for him and squeaked pitifully under his weight.

“Would you like some brandy?”

“I'd heard about your excellent stock...”

“And no wonder,” said Lucius with a smile, “the Unspeakables visited here quite often. Was it only rumor that reached you, or perhaps a few bottles as well?”

“Why, were you bribing my colleagues with drink?”

“Never occurred to me, but I couldn't help but notice a certain... shortage.”

Grey raised a blond eyebrow slightly.

“Are you implying that some of the personnel of the Department of Mysteries are less than honest?”

“No... after all, the Auror gentlemen also made themselves welcome here,” he smirked, “so would you like anything?”

“No, I would prefer to be sober for this conversation.”

“As you please. So what is it that you need from me?”

Grey squirmed a little, getting comfortable in the armchair.

“You must have guessed that I came to see you regarding Sirius Black.”

“Yes, I guessed as much. From what I understand, you got in touch with Mr. Potter.”

“No, we decided to put that off for now. We had a certain artifact... which had not been fully investigated. We'd made attempts to heal mentally ill wizards with its help, and have had a certain amount of success. We tried it on Black.”

“And?...”

“And we confirmed that you were right about his identity.”

Grey did not go on.

“So what's happened to him?” Lucius asked when he saw that no continuation was forthcoming.

“His consciousness is confused... it's as if he's divided into several parts and locked within himself.”

Lucius had assumed something along those lines. It turned out that the Compendium wasn't lying. It was possible to return from the Archway, but insanity was a guarantee as a result.

“Can you help him?”

“We want to. But it's you who has the ability to help him.”

“Why me, precisely?”

“He is not indifferent to you.”

Lucius smiled bitterly. _Well, that remains to be demonstrated._

“I think Mr. Potter is much more important to him. My good relationship with Black ended a very long time ago.”

“Harry Potter—yes, undoubtedly, he means a great deal to Sirius, but in this case he won't do. We need someone from his past before Azkaban, someone with some emotional meaning to him, someone who remembers him when he was young; someone who has the ability to awaken his feelings and mind. Almost everyone who knew him well is dead now. It may be that you're the only one who can help him.”

Lucius tried to control his face and not let an expression of triumph show through. Grey frowned and added:

“Don't flatter yourself, we can still use Harry Potter or Mrs. Tonks. It might be less effective, but you will not be permitted to blackmail us.”

“Never occurred to me.” Lucius suppressed a grin, “What do I need to do?”

“Use our artifact. Your consciousness will be transferred to Sirius, and you will help him put himself together. If everything goes according to plan...”

“And what if it doesn't?”

“That's absolutely ruled out!”

“When you put it like that, I become convinced that there is some danger after all. What's the risk?”

Grey sighed deeply and looked directly in his eyes.

“Your consciousness could be stuck there.”

“That is, I will simply go insane. What an excellent prospect! I think I'll pass.”

Grey rubbed his forehead tiredly.

“What do you want?”

_No, this won't do._

“What can _you_ offer?”

“I have no intention of haggling with you.” A frown line appeared between Grey's eyebrows.

“Nor do I. But you must realize that I won't risk my mental health for nothing. Sirius himself means very little to me. If, to rescue him, you demanded some information or favor from me, I would be happy to help and would ask for nothing in return. But a risk implies an appropriate compensation.”

Grey's eyes blazed with fury, his fingers were digging into the armrests. Lucius even began to worry that he might break the armchair. _That would be too bad._

“Don't tell me that you care nothing for him! I saw you.”

“You saw nothing. A momentary weakness... pity for a wizard locked up in a cage doesn't imply that I have any deep feelings for Black.”

“You're lying.”

He held the man's gaze.

“No.”

Grey lowered his eyes.

“The Unspeakables won't be able to remove the restrictions placed on you by the Wizengamot.”

“I know, that's why I'm asking you: what can you offer?”

Grey rubbed his forehead again and leaned back in the chair.

“An artifact. If you posses it, no one will be able to track the spells from you wand. In addition to this, we will publish the final report on Voldemort's Mark, interpreting some ambiguous facts in your favor.”

_That's good, but..._

“That's not enough.”

“What else?”

“You will return all the books and artifacts that belong to my family, which your organization had the nerve to remove from this house!” This time he couldn't hold back the emotional outburst.

Grey stared at him coldly.

“Don't you think that it's a bit much for a ghost of a chance to restore the mind of a single person?”

“No, I think it will barely be enough to pay for the risk of losing my mind.”

“I have to discuss it with my superiors.”

“As you please.”

They didn't shake hands when they parted.


	6. Chapter 6

The letter came three days later. It was very short: “Received permission. Come tomorrow morning, we'll discuss remaining details.” No answer was expected from him.

Grey intercepted him before he crossed the Atrium, led him past the security desk to the lifts without stopping, and from there took him directly to the Department of Mysteries. The hated corridors felt especially malevolent: there seemed to be even less light in them than usual. They went into an office, and Lucius had to squint from the sudden bright lamp light.

“Mr. Spot,” Grey introduced someone.

A nondescript man with short dark hair was sitting behind a desk, writing. When he heard Grey, he lifted his head and peered at them nearsightedly.

“Ah, Grey, come in. Mr. Malfoy, hello. Have a seat. Let's chat...”

When they were settled, he continued:

“Grey informed me of your demands, and I find them acceptable, considering the unusual nature of our experiment. Sacrifices must be made for science, and certain risks have to be taken,” he smiled slyly and handed Lucius a sheet of parchment, “Read over it. If you're satisfied with everything, we will sign it and get to work. No need to waste time.”

“First I'd like to notify my wife.”

“You really shouldn't. Why worry the lady unnecessarily?”

Lucius took the sheet and concentrated on reading it. It was a free-form magical contract. On the one hand—the Department of Mysteries, on the other—Lucius Malfoy... There was an addendum with a full list of the artifacts to be transferred by the Department. He'd rarely seen such simple contracts. In case of circumstances beyond their control, the Department would take care of all expenses. The transferred artifacts were not subject to confiscation unless a trial established that they had been used in criminal acts.

“We have no need to use tricks, Mr. Malfoy. And in this situation you simply won't be able to.”

All the books and artifacts would be returned to his family regardless of outcome—whether the experiment was successful or not. The decision to stop the experiment would be made by Mr. Spot, or any of his assistants if he were to become incapacitated.

“Sign it.”

Mr. Spot handed him a quill. For some reason Lucius decided not to haggle any further. Slowly, as if in a dream, he picked up the quill and wrote his signature at the bottom of the document.

“Excellent! Grey, go get everything ready, and in the meantime I'll get Mr. Malfoy caught up.”

Grey left silently.

“Mr. Malfoy.” Spot frowned, “No, that's so formal... I just can't stand it. Can I call you Lucius? And you can call me Spot. Just Spot, without the 'Mr.'. Okay?”

Lucius nodded. This unremarkable man had some kind of strange effect on him. He felt as if he was under Imperio.

“Well then, Lucius, our Sirius has got himself into a very strange place. My boys are from Pureblood families, for the most part, but I was lucky enough to be raised by Muggles.”

_Lucky enough?_

“Oh, don't make that face, my dear. In the current climate you can't afford to have an allergy to Muggles. Where was I? Oh, yes, so I don't know where a Pureblood wizard could have got this book, but it turns out that his mind is imprisoned in a very interesting reality. Have you ever read _The Wizard of Oz_?"

Lucius shook his head.

“But of course, Muggle fairy tales would be the last thing you could possibly be interested in.” Spot leaned forward and clasped his hands in front of him. “It's all terribly trite. See for yourself: the house in which a girl named Dorothy and her little dog were hiding, is picked up by a tornado and carried to a magic land. Of course, she wants to return home. The only one who can help her is a great wizard, who lives in an emerald city, which can only be reached by a yellow brick road.”

“You're joking.”

“Me? How could you think that! Imagine, that's exactly what happened. If we had more time I would be happy to lend you the book. But—alas, alas...” he sighed sadly. “On the way she finds friends: a scarecrow, a tin woodman, and a cowardly lion. They also need to see the great wizard. The first wants to get some brains, the second yearns to have a heart again, and the third dreams about courage. I won't get into the details now—you won't be needing them. In the end, after going through a series of adventures, they finally reach the place and solve their problems.”

“That's absurd...”

“Oh, certainly! But it's exactly what's going on in the head of your poor beloved.”

This suggestion was so outrageous that Lucius immediately lost the apathy that had been creeping over him.

“How dare you!”

“No need to be ashamed, my dear boy. Of course life had thrown the two of you in different directions, but take the word of an old wizard...”

For a moment it seemed to Lucius as if it was Dumbledore he was seeing in front of him. Spot laughed.

“No, no, I'm not Albus. Definitely not Albus...” His eyes twinkled. “I won't argue or quarrel with you, you can sort out what Sirius is to you as you go along.”

“I know what he is already,” snarled Lucius.

Spot smiled knowingly.

“Let's get back to this magic land. My analysts assume that you'll have to travel through something like it in Sirius's company... or rather, in the Siriuses' company. You'll see when you get there.”

_So there's several of them too._ Likely the same as the number of the companions of this... Dorothea. _One of him is already too much, but three... what a nightmare._ They'll tear him to pieces when they see him.

“You said there's several of them? And you think I can handle them?”

“Don't worry, if you're in any danger, you can return right away. Our trailblazers had no issues finding Sirius, and when they realized the futility of trying to communicate with him, they instantly returned to their bodies.”

“What do you mean by 'futility'? How am I better than your specialists?”

“It's impossible to help a man if he can't see or hear the person who's trying to help. We are all complete strangers to him. He has no image of us in his mind, so he perceives us as part of the scenery, and not as people.”

“But you think he'll hear me?”

“Don't you doubt it!”

Lucius made a disparaging noise. All this sounded like some kind of elaborate scheme. Scheme... The image of Narcissa's irritated face floated up in his memory.

“How much time will this take?”

“Oh, I think the first session will hardly take longer than a half-hour. After that, it will depend on the results.”

“And what if he doesn't see me, or perceives me with hostility?”

“He'll see you, Lucius, don't you worry. And we'll deal with the hostility somehow. I would be more than happy to send a guide with you, to give you advice based on any changes in Sirius's condition, but unfortunately the artifact only works for one person.”

The door opened and Grey walked back in.

“Spot, everything is ready.”

“Excellent!” he clapped his hands, “Let's go, Lucius. I promise you that this trip will be the most interesting adventure of your life!”

_As long as it isn't my last_. Lucius got up reluctantly. He felt as if he was being led off to his execution.

  
  


“Here it is—the 'Eye of the Allseeing!'” Spot declared dramatically, demonstrating an unremarkable diadem, decorated with three green stones. “Have a seat, Lucius. You see how comfortable this chair is?”

The chair looked anything but comfortable. It was made from smooth wooden planks attached to a metal carcass as the back, seat, and armrests. It reminded him unpleasantly of the chair in the Wizengamot chamber. All that was missing was the chains.

“This item came to us very recently, thanks to some of your former colleagues, actually. Oh, you can't imagine how many interesting things we found...” he lowered his eyelids dreamily, “but right now we're only interested in the Eye. It's all very simple... Grey, help Lucius get settled in the chair, I see that he doesn't believe that it can be comfortable.”

Lucius didn't wait for a second invitation; he came up to the chair and sat down. The chair actually did turn out to be comfortable—that is, until he realized that he could not move.

“Let me go immediately!” he growled.

Black, who was nearby behind the silver grate, started barking.

“Calm down, there's no need to be nervous!” Spot came up to Lucius and gave him a wide grin, “It's for your own safety. At the end of the session we'll free you right away. Now, listen carefully. The Eye is your guide into Sirius's consciousness and back. When I place it on your head, you will close your eyes and in a few moments you'll end up... to put it crudely, in the world which reflects what's going on in Sirius's head—or his soul, it's not important. You can return very easily—just press the central stone, take off the diadem, close your eyes, and voila! You're back with us.”

“So I'll appear in front of Black with this idiotic decoration on my head?!”

“Lucius, this is not the time to worry about your appearance. Besides, you look very nice in green.”

“You're mocking me!”

“No, I'm trying to help you.”

Lucius squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath.

“Fine. What if I can't take it off? What happens if I'm... wounded, or I die?”

Spot frowned.

“I don't recommend that you die. We don't know what would happen. Maybe nothing, or maybe...” he paused meaningfully. “Wounds should not have any impact on your spiritual health. But even so, you should be careful.”

“You haven't answered—what should I do if I can't take it off?”

“You want to know if there's some kind of backup plan?”

“Yes.”

Their eyes met, but Spot remained unfazed.

“None that we're aware of. If you find one, please let us know.” He grinned again.

_Bastard!_

“Lucius, don't flash your eyes in such a mean way. I'm sure you'll do well, and everything will be okay. Well then, good luck, my boy.” Spot's eyes twinkled, and he lowered the diadem onto Lucius's head.

He wasn't planning on giving up that easy, there was more that he wanted to ask, but his eyes closed of their own accord. He had a sensation of being yanked upwards, similar to Disapparating. Suddenly there was ground under his feet, and he almost fell.


	7. Chapter 7

Gray billows of fog, grass covered in ash of the same gray color, strange motionless shadows—this was all he could see around him. There was a faint smell of burning in the air, and something crunched between his teeth. He had assumed that the sensations here would be dream-like: sharp and bright yet somehow blurred at the same time, but actually it was all different. Everything felt just like it did in reality—he couldn't tell the difference. His hair was getting in his face, and as he smoothed it back, he felt the diadem—a strip of cold metal and the rough surface of the three stones—his return port-key.

Lucius looked around, but couldn't see a thing past the fog. Which way to go? Where the hell should he look for Black? He walked forward, towards the shadows showing dimly through the haze. Dry grass rustled under his feet, sprinkling his boots with ash. He seemed to float through a gray sea of fog, devoid of landmarks. Even sunlight was diluted in this impenetrable gray murk. Lucius flinched and stopped when a black dog appeared out of the fog in front of him. It stood with ears pressed back, bared its teeth, and made guttural growling sounds. _The dog again._

“Black...”

The fur on the dog's scruff stood on end, its shaggy tail twitched from side to side. It looked like it was about to attack.

“I came to help you, Black.”

It was hard to believe that the madman could understand words, but he stopped growling, pushed his nose forward and sniffed, flaring his nostrils. Lucius took a step forward. Black licked his snout, sniffed again, and stepped from paw to paw uncertainly. Eye to eye, Lucius said:

“I mean you no harm.”

The ears twitched, the tail went still.

“Do you know who I am?”

Black sat down on his haunches and began to howl. _Yes, he knows._ Lucius came closer and tentatively ran a hand over the dog's head. He really didn't want to get bitten. But Black made no attempt to attack him. He grew quiet, pushed his head into Lucius's hand and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Good. That's right... Good boy. Are you alone here?”

He barked, sprang away, and disappeared behind a shroud of mist. _Where?..._

“Black!”

He reappeared immediately, barked once, and ran off again. Having no choice but to hope that the dog knew where to go, Lucius followed him. The fog distorted sounds, and the barking seemed to come first from one side, then another. Black would run up to him and then quickly disappear from sight again. But even so, with his help, Lucius soon reached a rickety, lopsided fence. He knocked it down with a kick and came out onto a road paved with yellow bricks. Black immediately appeared by his side and barked loudly, hurrying him on.

There was gray gravel sprinkled over the road, crunching unpleasantly underfoot. Bleak, cobweb-shrouded hedges stretched on either side, interspersed with occasional leafless trees. It was an utterly dismal scene. Lucius recalled what Spot had called all this: a magic land.  _Oh, yes, it's truly “magical.”_

A crowd of people appeared out of the fog—a few children surrounding an adult who was standing by a fence. Black ran up to them, turned toward Lucius, and started barking, as if calling him. He slowed his steps. When he got closer, he realized that these were not children at all, but dwarfs. They had empty white eyes with no pupils, wrinkled faces, and gray pointed hats with small bones hanging from the brims. _Are those bird bones?_ Lucius shuddered with disgust. The dwarfs were constantly chewing something.

The adult, strangely enough, turned out to be Black. He was thinner and there were white strands in his long hair. He was leaning against the fence and smoking. His eyes were shaded by a wide-brimmed hat of the same gray color as everything else in this world.

“Black!” Lucius called out to him.

The dwarfs all turned theirs heads simultaneously and stared at him, the dog began to bark again. The human Black didn't even move. Could it be that he neither saw nor heard him? Was it all in vain, then? The dwarfs were frightening, for all that they were almost motionless, but despite this Lucius made up his mind to come closer. He made his way along the fence and touched Black's shoulder carefully. Black started, pushed his hat forward, stared at him with clouded eyes, scrunched up his forehead as if trying to remember something, and finally rasped out:

“Malfoy?”

A weight seemed to lift from Lucius's heart—at least he remembered.

“Yes Black. Let's get out of here.”

“I'm not Black.” He shook his head slowly, as if drunk. “I'm Scarecrow, and I have no brains,” he said, and laughed.

“You have none, and you never had any. And yet it never bothered you before.”

Black stretched his lips into a wide grin that didn't reach his eyes. Just like the real one used to do.

“What's this crown you've got, Malfoy?” He poked the diadem with a finger.

“It's to make me look pretty. Let's get out here, these creatures scare me.”

“You mean the Munchkins? What's so scary about them? They just stand there. And I just stand there, and smoke... it's nice.”

“And are you satisfied with that?”

Black frowned.

“I don't know. It's so hard to think... And what would I think with? It's not like I have any brains,” he giggled.

“And it's not like you ever used them, even when you had them. So I'll be doing the thinking. Let's go!”

He shrugged:

“Hold on, just let me finish smoking this...”

“Some Muggle shit again?”

Black started, and a glimmer of interest appeared in his eyes. The dog ran up to Lucius and pressed his nose into the back of his knees.

“You want?...”

“Why not.”

Lucius slowly held out his hand. The Munchkins began to chitter crossly. Black took the cigarette out of his mouth and put it in his hand, staring at him unblinkingly the entire time. The cigarette tasted the same as the air here—bitter and disgusting.

“Rubbish,” he whispered, trying to suppress a cough.

Black blinked once, twice, and then suddenly gave him a smile. A real one this time.

“You've never liked my cigarettes, Malfoy.”

The dog began to bark. The Munchkins were slowly advancing on them, emitting a creepy buzzing noise. The bones on their hats swayed slowly. Their jaws never stopped moving.

“Black, Black, let's go,” whispered Lucius, pulling him by the sleeve.

“Where?” He took another drag.

“Go... run!” he answered incoherently, grabbed Black's hand, and dragged him along.

Fortunately the Munchkins were extremely slow, and were not able to reach them yet. It wasn't that Black was resisting, but instead of running, he shuffled along, smoking complacently.

“Where are we going, Malfoy?” he asked when Lucius stopped to catch his breath.

He tried to recall what Spot had told him, and said:

“To the Emerald City.”

“Oh, I've head about it. They say that a great wizard lives there. Do you think he'd be able to give me brains? Sometimes it's so hard for me to think...”

“It's always hard for you to think, Black! I don't know what this wizard is capable of, but let's hope that he can help you.”

The dog began to bark again, glancing backwards into the foggy distance.

“Let's go faster, before these Munchers get to us.”

“I don't understand, why are you so afraid of them? I stood there for a long time. They just gawked at me and never moved. But as soon as you appeared, they started acting strange. Something's off about you, Malfoy.”

“Maybe so. Would you prefer to stay in their company?”

Black scrunched up his forehead again, looking thoughtful. The dog began to run from side to side nervously, making sharp yelping sounds.

“Think faster!” Lucius could not restrain his impatience.

“Don't hurry me! Fine, fine, I'm coming with you, at least you can talk...”

“Great, let's go!”

He grabbed Black by the hand again and pulled him along.

Gradually the fog began to dissipate, and strange huts with lopsided round roofs became visible past the withered gray fields on both sides. Fortunately, there were no Munchkins in sight.

“How did you get here, Malfoy?”

“Got dropped in by a tornado.”

The worst part was that Lucius had absolutely no idea what to do with Black. Judging by their conversation, he livened up somewhat when he was reminded of his past. But how effective was it? After all, Lucius was no medi-wizard, he didn't know the first thing about psychological disorders! Suddenly Black wrenched his hand away.

“What's wrong?”

“I remembered, Malfoy.”

_How inconvenient._

“You're my enemy. You must be leading me into a trap.”

Three quick steps, and he was grabbing Lucius by the throat. The dog growled, but it was impossible to tell which one of them he was growling at. Lucius clutched at Black's wrist.

“Calm down!”

“Where are you dragging me? To your bloody Voldemort?!”

Lucius shuddered. To this day, the name still inspired terror in him, and in this place it seemed that merely saying it out loud would cause the man himself to materialize in front of them.

“There is no Vol... Vold... demort! He's dead!”

“You're lying! Harry saw him return!”

“Oh, you remember Harry? You do remember, don't you?”

Black loosened his grip.

“Yes... hold on... Harry! My godson! Yes! I have to help him, your lot is trying to kill him!” his fingers tightened once again. Lucius began to wheeze. He felt like he was about to lose consciousness any second.

“Already helped!” he got out with a last effort.

“What are you trying to say?”

“Your Harry is perfectly fine. And he killed the Dark Lord, and you... you died, Black!”

“What?”

His fingers unclenched. Lucius clutched at his own throat, trying to catch his breath, but was immediately grabbed by the lapels and almost lifted off the ground.

“What are you nattering about, Malfoy?”

“The Archway, Black! Remember the Department of Mysteries? Bellatrix threw a jinx at you, and you fell into the Archway. What happened to you after that, Black? Do you remember?”

“No... yes. I don't want to! I don't want to remember!” he screamed suddenly, pushed Lucius away so hard that he crashed to the ground, and started running. The dog ran after him, barking.

Lucius got up with difficulty. _Bloody psycho! Always problems with that one! Where should I look for him now?_ He looked around. Billows of fog began to coalesce about him again. It was all useless. Let Potter deal with him, since he's remembered him. _I bet he wouldn't try to strangle him._ Lucius lifted his hand and touched the central stone in the diadem, but then something struck him hard on the back of the head, and he passed out.

 


	8. Chapter 8

“Schick-schick-schick.” The nasty sound seemed to cut directly into his brain, echoing with pain somewhere in the back of his head. Lucius cracked his eyes half-open with an effort. A large grinding wheel was spinning right in front of him—as least he assumed it must be a grinding wheel, when he saw that a large ax was being sharpened on it. He lifted his eyes higher and saw... Black. Except it was a different Black. He wore a helmet and armor, and a look of dark determination was frozen on his face. Lucius tried to move and realized that he was tightly bound to a hard chair.

“Black.” His voice came out too soft, and the screech of metal on stone drowned it out. “Black!” he repeated more loudly.

The other turned his head without stopping what he was doing.

“What do you want?”

“Let me go!”

“Ha-ha, that's a good one! I'll untie you, and you'll run off with your heart.”

A chill slithered down his back.

“What are talking you about Black?”

He lowered the ax and looked at Lucius with clouded eyes.

“I have no heart, and I really need one. Although I don't know what for... but without it everything is hard and painful. As if there's a hole in my chest and nothing can plug it up.” He stroked the ax-handle lovingly and smiled. That smile frightened Lucius even more. “I used to catch some creatures in the forest nearby and open them up with my trusty ax, but they had no hearts, just some kind of gray sludge. But you—you're different. I know you have a heart. As I carried you, I heard it beating: ba-bump, ba-bump. It was so nice. I want it to beat the same way in my chest.”

Now Lucius was swamped with honest-to-goodness terror. This psycho would simply chop him in half... and who knows what this would mean for him in the real world. Spot was rather insistent when he recommended that he not die.

Lucius looked around in search of a solution. They were in a small hut. Dull gray light seeped through cracks in the walls, and all the windows were smeared with dirt. The only furniture were a crooked table and a dilapidated trestle-bed with some rags on it in place of a mattress. A pile of white bones glistened through a thick layer of cobwebs in one corner. Lucius swallowed. He yanked on the ropes, but they only bit into his wrists even more.

“Black... that's not an answer. Even if you can take out my heart, who will put it into your chest? You can't do it yourself.”

Black lowered his eyes.

“Yes, I haven't considered that. But what can I do? I need a heart so badly, everything inside me hurts without it!”

“Let's go...” _God, am I really saying this nonsense?_ “Let's go to the Emerald City,” he was doing his best  not to burst out laughing, or sobbing, “there's a wizard there, I think he can help you.”

Black shook his head and suddenly sniffled, as if about to cry.

“He won't want to! No one wants to help me!”

He swung the ax and hit the table with full force. Lucius flinched.

“I'll ask him, he won't say no to me.” He tried to make his voice sound as calm and convincing as possible.

“You? And who are you?”

“Don't you know?” he asked in a cajoling tone, as he tried to loosen the ropes. The one that was wound around his right arm seemed to give a little.

Black lifted his head and looked at him carefully.

“I think you mean something to me. When I look at you, I feel warmer here,” he struck his chest in the area of his heart, ”and my head starts to hurt. Your name...” he squinted and ran a hand over his face, “I know your name! It's so... fragile and prickly, like your eyes. You resemble your name so much... Lu... Lucius! Yes, Lucius.”

“That's right,” he sighed with relief, “now untie me.”

“No, no, no, Lucius. That won't do. You're a bad person, very bad, you should not be untied under any circumstances! You bring nothing but trouble.” He frowned, as if trying to remember something. “You're a murderer... a criminal, a liar. An enemy! You're just trying to lure me into a trap.”

“No, no! I truly want to help you. I'll just take you to the Emerald City and introduce you to the wizard.” _I can't believe I'm being forced to spout this rubbish!_

“No, you'll trick me, trick me as usual! I better cut out your heart, and it'll become mine... that's how it should be.”

By now he was nauseous from fear. He had to get out of there immediately! He felt something wet trickle between his fingers—he must have rubbed bleeding welts into his wrists.

“And it will be completely useless to you.” He tried to stop his voice from trembling. A drop of sweat slid down his temple, tickling his skin.

Black stared at him with crazy eyes. He leaned towards Lucius, almost touching his nose with his stubbled cheek, and whispered in his ear:

“I don't think so, Lucius. I will own your heart completely, it will be in my hands, hot, shivering, red...”

“Dead!”

Black recoiled.

“No, no, no, dead is wrong, wrong, wrong! You're lying again! Lying, like you did then!”

“When?” Lucius asked faintly.

He felt like he might lose consciousness again.

“When...” The look in Black's eyes was utterly helpless.

Suddenly the door of the hut burst open and hit the wall behind it. The dog ran inside, barking and growling, and Black followed him. _“Brainless,”_ Lucius mentally labeled him, to tell all these Blacks apart somehow.

“Malfoy!” he was waving a lumpy club and looking around, “you still alive?”

“No,” he said, and laughed.

“What do you mean, no?” he lowered the club in confusion, then glanced at his double. “Hi, who are you?”

“The Woodcutter,” Heartless introduced himself. “What are you doing here, you brainless scarecrow?”

Brainless gripped his club more comfortably and stood straighter, with flashing eyes.

“Yes, I'm a scarecrow, even a brainless one, but not for long! Malfoy promised to take me to the Emerald City! A wizard lives there...”

“And you believe Lucius?” He smirked contemptuously. “You're not afraid that he'll betray you again? Trick you? Drive you out of your mind, and then disappear?”

Brainless frowned.

“Yes, I'm afraid. But who else can get me brains? Only Malfoy.”

They stood facing each other—identical, yet so different. The one on the left with bitter lines around his eyes and mouth, with a cruel sneer, covered in steel. The one on the right with an expression of extreme bewilderment on his face, with rounded eyes, in a ridiculous hat. Both of them were Sirius Black... And neither one of them was truly him. Two absolute lunatics. The dog crept up behind him and started licking his wounded wrists. _He'd do better to try to chew through the ropes, then I can just escape to the real world._

“Yes, if anyone can procure something, it's Lucius,” said Heartless thoughtfully, drilling his opponent with his intense gaze.

“So come with us! Malfoy...”

“Lucius.”

“Malfoy!” Brainless insisted, raising the club threateningly.

“Lucius.” Heartless put his hand on the ax-handle.

“Malfoy...”

_All I need now is for them to kill each other over what to call me._

“Lucius Malfoy,” he reminded them.

They looked at him with the same expression of astonishment, and for a moment they looked completely identical.

“He can't be trusted.” Heartless lowered his ax.

“No, he can't, but he really can help us. Brains for me, a heart for you...”

“Maybe, but that doesn't mean that he'll actually help. Now, if he has no choice...” a malicious smile touched his lips. “He won't get far with his hands tied.”

“That's cruel...” Brainless frowned.

“But effective. I don't care if it's cruel or not, it's not like I have a heart. I can feel bad about it once I get one.”

“Well... You're the smart one, you know best. If it helps me get my brains, I'm not against it.”

The dog barked and ran to the middle of the hut—he seemed to disagree with this decision. Out of the three Blacks, he was the one who seemed the most sensible.

“Untie me, or else I won't go anywhere!”

“You will. Otherwise, we'll carve you up: he'll get your brains—and you do have brains, Lucius, you always insisted that you're smart. And I'll get your heart. Me and him will help each other out.”

“Idiots! You can't just cut out someone's heart and give it to another!”

“Are you sure?” said Brainless doubtfully.

He wasn't sure. In this insane world, anything could be possible. Was it possible to dismember a soul and give someone the pieces like a gift? It sounded like something from Dark Magic. Better not risk it.

“Fine... I agree.”

He was already sorry that he even tried to protest. The dog ran up to him, put his muzzle in Lucius's lap, and gazed up at him with eyes full of sorrow. _Some comfort you are._

 


	9. Chapter 9

All this reminded him unpleasantly of Azkaban: the gray, dreary landscape, his tied hands, and a convoy of two lunatics—one brainless, the other heartless. He would have laughed, if it wasn't for the panic overwhelming him. And thoughts of Azkaban only increased it. The only thing which didn't fit the association was the dog. There were no dogs in Azkaban. There were rumors that at some point a couple were brought in—they wanted to use them to guard the prisoners. But as soon as the dogs stepped foot on the island, they just sat down and started howling. It turned out to be impossible to shut them up or to distract them, so they were taken right back.

The dog ran in front, only occasionally turning around, doubling back, barking to hurry them along, and then running ahead again. Brainless and Heartless took turns leading Lucius by the hand. “So he won't run off.” Not that he particularly wanted to. He couldn't imagine what he might bump into in this strange world. It was better not to risk it. At least the Blacks needed him alive, but what some monsters created by an unhinged mind might do to him... he didn't even want to think about it.

The lifeless gray fields were replaced by an equally lifeless forest. Not a leaf, not a living being anywhere. Even the wind seemed to avoid this deadly place. The only good thing was that the fog had disappeared, but he couldn't admire the landscape anyway—there was nothing here worth admiring.

Lucius turned to look at his companion. Brainless was staring into the distance with an empty, insensible gaze. He would frown and then calm down in turns, and occasionally bite his lower lip and then pass his tongue over it. As if he was nervous. Heartless walked in front. Lucius glanced at him, gauging the distance. If he spoke quietly, the man would not hear, and he decided that getting Brainless to talk might be very helpful at this point.

“Do you remember what happened to you after you fell through the Archway?” he asked in a half-whisper.

The other started, blinked, and tilted his head, hiding from Lucius's view behind his tangled hair.

“We're not allowed to talk about that... not allowed. Nothing, only emptiness.”

The smell of burning wafted into their faces, and tentacles of fog began to flow through the trees. _He's right, it's best not to remind him of that. But how to approach him?_ Memories! Lucius smiled slightly. Which moment should he choose?

“We fist met when you were nine.” Black lifted his head sharply and looked at him with surprise. “My family was hosting a Grand Christmas Ball, and your parents were among those invited. It seems they'd decided it was time for you and your brother to be inducted into high society. Except you two seemed to disagree. You dragged poor Regulus around with you and put him up to various dirty deeds. Then you got to poor unfortunate Rosier. The result was that you started a nasty brawl with him right in the middle of the drawing room. Narcissa and I had to pull you apart, and then heal your bruises and repair your robes. I remember you kept struggling and trying to escape—you didn't want me to remove your 'battle scars.'”

Black's lips twitched slightly, as if he wanted to smile.

“And you were so pompous, like you were the Minister of Magic, no less. I kept egging Regulus on to set fire to your stupid blond hair. His wild magic usually manifested in fire. But in the end...”

“In the end you set fire to the drapes, and Narcissa was so scared that she poured water all over both them and us.”

Black laughed. A fresh wind blew in their faces and tousled their hair.

“Yes, Regulus. We were still friends back then. And in the end he became a Death Eater and vanished.”

“Oh, you never did find out. He went against the Dark Lord. That's why he died.”

“What?” he stopped walking and squeezed Lucius's hand painfully.

“He did something heroic... I don't know what, precisely. Potter never went into the details on the topic.”

“But how? I thought... Reg,” he moaned through his teeth.

“This is not the first time you've misjudged someone, Black.”

He lifted his chin, glared maliciously and inquired:

“Were you about to say that you were also against Voldemort? Huh?”

Lucius smiled.

“Maybe.”

“Don't lie!”

Black yanked his arm painfully and pulled him forward.

What else to remind him of? Something bright, without any negative undertones? Everything that came into his head wasn't quite right. Everything reminded him of death, and was bound to have a bad effect on Black's mood.

“Do you remember your graduation?”

The other man said nothing, only pressed his lips into a thin line.

“You were just sitting there in the tower, and then you admitted you were gay.”

“I didn't admit anything!”

“Of course not.” Lucius smirked. “Who would believe that the biggest womanizer of the school was actually in love with his best friend?”

“I was drunk! I just, just...”

“I know. You were curious, and then it all went too far.”

“Yes...” he lowered his head even further and slowed his steps. “I remember everything now, Malfoy. Almost everything...”

“Everything? What about Snape, and your friends, the Marauders? What about how you abandoned your father and mother, how you bullied your brother?”

“I didn't bully him! I remember... But they all died, and I'm dead too now, with them. There is nothing left.”

The sky darkened. Their conversation had gone in the wrong direction again.

“Unfortunately, you Black, of all people, are alive. Whether you want to be or not. You have two cousins, a godson and the son of your other friend, who is now growing up without a father. Why don't you get ahold of yourself and try to help him?”

“Lupin...” he moaned. “But why two cousins? Bellatrix died?”

“Both Bellatrix and Andromeda's daughter... So Lupin's son also lost his mother. Come back, Black.”

Black looked up, confused.

“How? Where? Why?”

There was a sudden blast of cold air, and he felt anguish squeeze his heart like an icy hand. The dog began to bark frantically. Heartless turned around, glanced somewhere above their heads and yelled:

“Run!”

Lucius couldn't help turning around to look. It would have been better if he hadn't. _Dementors! How can they be here?!_ They started to run. For a short time Brainless still clutched his hand, but eventually he let go. Terror drove them on. Running with his hands tied was uncomfortable, and Lucius was constantly afraid of falling on the uneven road. _That would be the end..._ He couldn't imagine what would happen to him if the Dementors caught him and sucked out his soul here. And he really didn't want to find out. Brainless ran far ahead and almost caught up to his double. They left him? They just left him?? _And they call themselves Gryffindors?_ Lucius felt the icy breath of the Dementors on his back.

“Crucio!” Voldemort's voice echoed in his head.

His vision darkened, and Lucius fell to his knees, choking. _No, no, it's just a memory..._ He had to get up and keep running, they were getting too close. He rose with difficulty. His twisted ankle made it hard to keep moving. He was no longer running, but hobbling. No. It was useless, he couldn't get away. They were getting closer and closer.

Torture, blood, screams, corpses, dead eyes staring at him, and they hated him, hated him. Draco, thin and haggard, was crying on his mother's shoulder; when he turned, his eyes reflected contempt and hatred. _No!_ A blood-tinged pall covered his eyes, there was no air, only blood all around him, pouring into his nose, mouth. He was choking on blood. His lungs were bursting with pain.

“No!”

Through a haze of pain he felt someone's arms try to lift him.

“Happy memories, Malfoy! Concentrate on happy memories. Please!”

“Get ahold of yourself, Lucius!”

Two identical voices were echoing each other.

“Just leave me!”

A dog's brisk barking reached him and drowned out the inhuman shrieking in his ears.

“A happy memory, Malfoy! You must have one!”

He had to gather all his strength to distract himself from the nightmare in his head. _Happiness... what is that?_ Beautiful Narcissa smiled at him and whispered: “Yes!” The gold and emerald ring fit her small finger perfectly, and he touched his lips to hers. Was this happiness? _Yes, and no._ What he was mostly feeling at the time was nervous and tired. He felt this memory float away, as if someone was drawing it away from him. _No!_

Draco. A baby with barely visible light fuzz on his head opened his eyes and looked at him. His son. His firstborn. Happiness? Yes, but it was overshadowed by worry for Narcissa—she had too much trouble during the delivery. No, no, everything that happened later was poisoned by various worries: the Dark Lord, the Ministry, the Aurors, Dumbledore... He had to go back to an earlier time.

His first broom? A Quidditch victory? His first kiss with Narcissa? The Prefect's badge? No, no, no, it was all wrong. Getting the Dark Mark? A wave of cold touched his heart.

The memory appeared from the depth of his subconscious, completely unexpected. Summer, a bottomless blue sky, the smell of fresh grass and field flowers. Sirius put his head on his chest, tickling him slightly with his hair. It was pleasant, good, trouble-free; his body was so relaxed that it felt completely boneless. And for some reason this was intensely pleasurable. He couldn't resist smiling when Sirius turned his head and slid his lips along his neck; their fingers intertwined. Lucius was slowly carding his unruly black hair, then slipped his hand lower, to his slim, muscled back. Sirius lifted his head slightly and looked at him with eyes as blue as the summer sky.

“Another round?”

Lucius patted his back below the shoulder blades.

“Of course. But later. Let's just lie like this for now.”

The other hummed in assent and rolled over onto his back.

“You know, this is so good, Malfoy. I never even thought that it could be so good with you...”

Lucius realized that he was grinning like an idiot; his heart was shivering in his chest; he felt as if wings were opening behind him and he could fly.

“I think I'm happy, Black...”

This was it, this was what he needed now, that feeling of calm, quiet joy and peaceful happiness. He remembered! His head began to spin.

“Black..” he said out loud.

There it was—absolute happiness: when you want to embrace the whole world; when you can't believe that any evil exists; when you want to just shout and shout from joy, so that everyone knows how you feel. Lucius tried to focus on this intoxicating feeling, to strengthen it, to make it drown out the nightmares dredged up by the Dementors. A dull pain bloomed somewhere under his left shoulder blade, he breathed in with effort, breathed out, felt his head spin even more, and fell into darkness.


	10. Chapter 10

Lucius came to from the sensation of cold water being poured right on his face. He opened his eyes with difficulty and, blinking, stared at Brainless.

“You came to!” the man greeted him, shaking water from his hands.

The dog appeared beside him and licked him on the nose. Lucius winced and sat up. He was glad to see that his hands were now free.

“What happened?”

“The Flying Things. They turn anything living into ash.”

“Dementors.”

Brainless frowned. The dog insinuated his head under Lucius's arm, and he absentmindedly started to scratch it behind the ears. For some reason this made Lucius feel calmer.

“Yes, they're similar,” agreed Brainless. “You chased them off and then passed out.”

“I? Chased them off?”

“Yes, a truly happy memory is the only weapon against them. Unlike the Dementors, the Flying Things don't feed on happy memories, they're afraid of them. I don't remember anything well enough, so our only hope was you. And you did it. I tried to remember... I almost did, too. But I couldn't recognize my feelings, couldn't understand what this 'happiness' is.”

“And where's the other one?” Lucius glanced from side to side.

“What other one?”

“The one... without a heart.”

“I'm the one who has no heart,” said Black quietly. “That's why I couldn't remember my feelings.”

It was only then that Lucius noticed that Brainless looked different somehow. Yes, he wore the same stupid hat, but under his gray cloak glistened a steel breastplate. It seemed that two of Black's three separate pieces were now united.

“And what about your brains?”

“Oh, you don't have to worry about those. Everything is in place.” He smiled and knocked on his own forehead with his knuckles.

“Well, I'm not so sure about that,” muttered Lucius, and took a look around them.

There seemed to be more light. The sky didn't look so gray any more, there was less ash on the grass, and a few of the trees had sprouted small green leaves. Black seemed to be getting better.

Lucius, on the other hand, felt dirty and tired. He brought his hand up to his head and felt for the diadem. Maybe he should go back? But what if Black becomes scattered again? He still had some strength left, and there was no immediate danger, so it was better to stay and try to finish the job.

“Where did you get the water?”

“There's a stream here. It's not too clean, though.”

“Let's go, you can show me.”

It wasn't a stream, but an honest-to-goodness wide, deep river—the other side was barely visible. Fortunately, the current didn't seem too swift. The yellow brick road ran right into it. There were some remnants of a wooden bridge on the shore. It looked like it had been swept away when the river overflowed, and no one had bothered to fix it.

The water in the river was gray and murky, with no bottom in sight.

“We need to cross to the other side.”

“Maybe we should build a raft?” suggested Black.

_A surprisingly sensible thought, for a madman._

“You have the ax. The forest is right there. Get to it.”

“Aren't you going to help me?”

“In case you haven't noticed, we only have one ax, and you're the one who knows how to use it.”

“Princess.”

Black spat on the ground, threw a sideways glance at him, and headed for the trees, swinging the ax idly. The dog took off after him, barking. _Excellent_. Now he could get some peace, and get his thoughts in order.

Lucius walked back and forth along the bank. The river looked dead; it's surface seemed to be covered in some filmy residue. He could only tell it was moving from the dry branches floating in it, which drifted past slowly. It was a depressing sight.

Lucius picked up a smooth, flat stone and tossed it parallel to the water. The stone bounced off the glossy surface once, twice, three times before it sank. Rings expanded everywhere it touched, bringing the dull river to life. Lucius smiled. He hadn't done this since he was a child, but here, in this unreal world, he could allow himself to fool around. After all, no one could see him.

Actually, other than the strange landscape, the only thing that distinguished this world from the real one was a total absence of physiological needs. It felt as if he'd spent more than a day here, but he wasn't hungry or thirsty at all. Yet at the same time, he still sweated, and was starting to feel uncomfortable in his stale shirt. _Maybe I should wash?_ He glanced over the river—it didn't inspire much trust, but it wasn't particularly frightening, either.

He looked around for a place to leave his robes, and noticed a rustling in the bushes nearby, as if someone was hiding there. Probably sensing that he'd been spotted, another Black stepped into view. He looked especially pathetic. His had an utterly haunted look in his eyes, his arms and legs were trembling, his chapped lips looked as if he'd been biting them, his tangled hair was standing on end. All he had on was a thin shirt and torn trousers.

_And here's number three. I'm glad I didn't have to search for him._

“Black!” Lucius called out and took a step towards him, but the other shook his head wildly and retreated back into the forest.

_Is he... afraid?_

“Black, do you recognize me?”

His features became distorted in a grimace of rage.

“Yes! You're a filthy Death Eater! Don't come hear me!”

Black would never behave like this—he would rather attack a Death Eater with his bare fists. But this one rubbed his hands nervously and took another step back. He looked like he wanted to run, but something was holding him in place. _I should calm him down, talk to him._

“I want to help you. Siri... Sirius,” he didn't know himself why he called Black by his given name, “come here. Don't be afraid.” His voice was slightly unsteady.

“No...” He shook his head again emphatically. “You'll kill me. Or my friends, or someone else, and I'll get blamed for it. It'll be my fault!”

“Sirius, what are you talking about? Look, there is no one else here!”

“I let them down... I let them down so bad.” He clutched at his own head, squatted, and started making howling noises, just like a dog.

_No... this is completely unbearable!_ Lucius approached him slowly. He kept expecting him to jump up and run away, but Black sat where he was. Spot had mentioned a lion who lacked courage, but Black had never been a coward. He was a Gryffindor, after all! You might even say that he was the quintessence of Gryffindor recklessness and bravery—and here he squatted, howling and afraid to come close. No, this was not cowardice, it was fear of loss, fear of letting someone down again. It didn't seem to matter at all that there was no one left to let down.

Lucius came closer, sat on the ground next to him, and forcefully pulled his hands away from his face.

“Sirius, stop howling! Where is your courage?”

“I don't... I don't have it. I'm a coward.”

Lucius almost started howling himself from the brutality and wrongness of what was happening. _How?! How can Black be like this?_ He took a deep breath and squeezed his hands.

“You're not a coward. Look at me, what are you afraid of?”

His eyes were swollen and red, but there were no tears in them. _That's something, at least._ The sight of Black crying might have had a bad effect on Lucius's own psychological health. He decided to try a proven method.

“We're going to the Emerald City, there is wizard there, he will help you get your courage.”

“Courage? For me? But how? And it's so far away! I don't want to risk it...” his words and thoughts seemed to be getting tangled. He squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head, and then suddenly looked up with an innocent, helpless expression. “No, I'm afraid that you'll trick me again.”

It was like talking to a small child. Lucius felt his throat tighten unpleasantly.

“I'm not going to trick you. What's the sense of sitting here under a bush and being afraid? What will it change?”

“No one else will suffer because of me...”

“No one will suffer anyway. Come with us, Sirius.”

He rose and held out his hand. Black stared into his eyes unblinkingly for some time, then he nodded, took his hand and got up.

“Fine. I'll risk it... risk believing you.”

“Good boy!”

He patted him on the shoulder and led him to the river, where the other Black was already waiting for them. There were three of them again: the dog, Black, and... Lucius glanced sideways at the Black who was shuffling and constantly stumbling by his side. _And Sirius._ He would be Sirius, since he'd already called him that several times.

“Malfoy, who else have you found?” Black threw down the log he was holding and walked towards them.

“You.”

Sirius trembled slightly and began to wail:

“I better stay here, I don't need to go anywhere...”

Lucius gripped his bicep firmly, lest he run off.

“Don't worry. Everything will be okay,” he whispered.

Black came up to them and examined his double with hostility.

“What do you mean, me? I can't be this pathetic.”

“Why not? If all your self-confidence was taken away, this is exactly what you would look like, Black.”

The other threw Sirius a look full of contempt.

“Yours, on the other hand, must be impossible to take away, Malfoy,” grumbled Black, then turned around and walked off toward the river.

This was frighteningly far from the truth, but luckily Black did not know that. That's why he looked at him and treated him the same as before. Even a little better, like he did on the Astronomy Tower on that memorable evening. As if he could not care less, as if there had been no war, and nothing had changed. This was inspiring. He could forget that his own courage and self-confidence were killed a long time ago, first by Azkaban, then by the Dark Lord's torture. He was just pretending that he was all right, even thought it was completely untrue: he never did succeed at “pulling himself back together.”

That might be why he was treating Black's loss of faith in himself with a certain sympathy and compassion. In the past, the sight of a broken Black would have only brought out a desire to kick him while he was down, to demean him even more. But now something was broken in Lucius himself.

“Everything will be okay,” he said, and let go of Sirius's arm. “Come on, you can help us build a raft.”

“A raft? You mean to cross the river?”

“The Emerald City should be somewhere on the other side, so yes, that's exactly what we mean to do.”

“That's a bad idea, a very bad idea,” he mumbled. “That side... it's not good, and the river is dangerous.”

His fingers brushed Lucius's wrist, as if he'd wanted to take his hand, but changed his mind. Such an innocent, childish gesture.

“Maybe you know if there's a bridge, or a crossing, around here?”

Sirius shook his head mutely.

“Then we simply have no choice.”


	11. Chapter 11

While they were building the raft, the weather changed for the better. The sky took on a blue tint and the foggy haze disappeared, even though the sun still stayed hidden behind gray clouds. The smell of burning vanished, as did the gray ash on the grass and trees; there were more green leaves now. The world was becoming more and more normal, which meant that Black himself was getting better. Or at least that's what Lucius assumed.

They had to sacrifice parts of their clothing to tie the logs together. While the two Blacks dragged trees out of the forest, Lucius tore his robe, Black's cloak and Sirius's shirt into strips, and tied the logs together.

Finally the work was done, and they set out. They had presumed that they would simply cross the river and keep walking down the yellow brick road, but that didn't quite work out. The middle of the river turned out to have a strong current, and their poles could no longer reach the bottom. In the end, the raft became almost completely uncontrollable and was carried off sideways.

The road quickly vanished beyond the horizon, the current got stronger, the river became wider and shallower, and they could see it cascade over a series of rock steps ahead. The raft was speeding straight for the rocks. Black and Sirius tried to drive their poles into the river bottom, but they merely slid off the smooth stones, and could get no leverage. The dog ran barking back and forth across the raft, risking falling into the water, and at some point Lucius just scooped him up in his arms.

“We're going to die now... Why did I ever agree to this escapade,” Sirius was muttering in a low voice, “I knew, didn't I, that a Death Eater couldn't be trusted!”

Lucius was about to reassure him, when a wave splashed him in the face, and he moved away, to the middle of the raft.

“Malfoy, why are you just sitting there?” Black plunged his pole into the water with full force, and almost slid off after it. The raft tilted dangerously. Lucius almost rolled off into the river, and yelled:

“Son of a... Black, watch what you're doing!”

“I am watching! Watching _you_ not _doing_ anything!”

“In case you haven't noticed, we only have two poles. Or are you suggesting that I somehow stop the raft with my bare hands?”

“You could take the pole away from this wimp! He's useless anyway—all this moron does is whine.”

Lucius was about to answer when Sirius shouted:

“Look!”

They turned their heads and saw a dark figure wrapped in a long cloak standing on the river bank. _Another Dementor?_ Lucius stood up to his full height and looked more closely. The figure turned to face him, and the hood of its cloak billowed strangely, as if there was nothing underneath it.

“No-no-no-no-no,” Sirius howled suddenly, letting go of the pole and dropping to his knees.

The raft jolted, and Lucius almost ended up in the river. He crawled to the edge of the raft, cursing. Luckily the dropped pole hadn't gone far. Lucius tried to fish it out of the water, but his fingers kept slipping off the wet wood.

“Black! Push this way, or else we'll lose the pole!”

The other didn't react. Lucius stretched as far as he could, almost falling into the river, and finally caught the pole.

“Both Blacks, have you completely lost your minds?” He turned towards them, breathing heavily.

Sirius was no longer howling—he just rocked back and forth on his knees. Black stood frozen, barely moving the pole, clearly not thinking about controlling the raft at all. Lucius turned to the figure—it still stood on the shore, undulating slightly in the wind. From that distance it was impossible to tell what it was. The sky darkened.

“What happened? Who is that?”

“I thought...” Black faltered, coughing. “I remembered that it was all nonsense, a dream...”

“What do you mean?”

Lucius stood up and tried to stop the raft, but his pole barely reached the bottom.

“You said that I died. I think you even asked what it was like there.”

“I asked, but you didn't want to talk about it.”

A cold blast of wind hit him in the face.

“I was right, and I still don't want to. I didn't know that he could get to me... here.”

“Who's he?”

Black tilted his chin in the direction of the river bank.

“And who's that?”

“We're better off not meeting him.”

The figure on shore waved a snow-white hand—either in farewell or in greeting—and they sped past it. A rumbling sound came from somewhere ahead. Lucius turned around. The river in front of them had disappeared under a cloud of mist. _A waterfall! This is definitely the end!_ He lifted a hand to remove the diadem, but in that instant the raft struck a rock.

Lucius crashed into the water, and was dragged off sideways, scraping over rocks. He tried to grab hold of something, to swim up, to catch his breath, but wave after wave broke over his head and the stones slipped out of his fingers. He was carried straight to the waterfall, and could do nothing about it.

He tried to touch the diadem again, but hit his head against a rock. His vision darkened from pain, and he almost passed out. Someone grasped him firmly by the shoulder, and just as he was about to sink deeper into the water, a pair of hands dragged him up. He surfaced, spitting and gulping air.

“Hold on to the pole!” someone screamed right in his ear.

_What pole?_ He began to grope around blindly, until he stumbled on a wet piece of wood and gripped it in both hands. Something soft bumped into his side. _The dog? That's all I need right now, for him to drown..._ Lucius freed a hand and grabbed him by the scruff.

“Just leave him, he'll manage!” yelled one of the Blacks. “Hold on tighter!”

A wave hit his face, and Lucius swallowed water again. He couldn't even open his eyes. He was dragged forward, stones catching on his clothes and water whipping into his face. Suddenly he felt solid ground under his feet, and tried to stand up. The soles of his waterlogged boots slipped, and he almost fell. One of the Blacks put an arm around his waist.

“That's it, let go of the pole, it's shallow here. Hang on to me.”

Black took his arm and slung it around his shoulder. Lucius straightened with difficulty. His legs were refusing to hold him up and he was swaying from side to side, but somehow they still managed to get to shore, and he fell down right on the bare rocks, coughing up water. Black was panting next to him. Lucius turned his head—no, not Black, Sirius. He was lying on his back with his eyes closed. _Where is the other one? And the dog?_ Lucius raised himself up slightly. His head was spinning mercilessly, his eyes stung, and he was barely able to see anything around him. The dog was there—he was sprawled on the bank as well, trying to catch his breath, but Black was nowhere to be seen.

“Where's Black?” he said, coughing.

“He was somewhere around here...” Sirius lifted his head.

The remains of their raft were stuck between boulders. It seemed to have fallen apart during the collision. Lucius was amazed that they'd managed to survive. The drop-off was ten yards away, at most, a little bit more and... _But really, where is Black? Or did he die after all?_ Lucius staggered up and looked around once again. Nothing.

“He was the first to swim out,” Sirius spoke up. “He probably ended up further up river.”

“Then we need to find him as soon as possible.”

Although Lucius couldn't imagine walking anywhere at that point. He felt as if there wasn't a single unbruised spot left on his entire body.

“Yeah, hold on...” Sirius ran a hand over his face. “God, we almost died! If only I hadn't listened to you, if I'd kept living in the forest. Why did I ever come with you... I cause nothing but trouble.”

“You saved my life, in case you haven't noticed! So stop whining!”

But Sirius wasn't listening to him, he sat with his hands over his face.

“It's all pointless, all in vain, we're just going to die, I only bring misfortune...” he kept wailing, until Lucius was ready to lose it completely.

Suddenly the dog sprang up, and bounded off along the shore, barking. _He's probably caught Black's scent._

“Get up, let's follow him.”

“It's all meaningless...”

“Cut it out!” Lucius leaned down and shook him by the shoulders roughly. “Get ahold of yourself!”

Sirius lifted his head and looked up at him with bleary eyes.

“A hold of what?” he mumbled.

“Get up! Come on!”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

Sirius gave him a crooked smirk, but then glanced over his shoulder. His eyes widened, and he grabbed Lucius's hand with all his strength.

“No-no-no-no,” he chanted.

Lucius whirled around. Just a few yards away stood the dark figure they had seen before. The long cloak hid its silhouette, and it was impossible to make out the face beneath the hood.

“Who are you?”

There was no answer.

“Don't talk to him, don't ask, don't come near...” Sirius gave him a pleading look.

“Who is it?”

“I don't want, I don't want...”

The figure moved forward. It seemed as if the daylight itself retreated from it. Sirius sprang up and pushed Lucius back so hard that he fell. Sirius's hands shook as he picked up a fragment of the pole and held it pointed out. The figure rippled, as if shaking with laughter, and moved closer by another foot. It seemed to hover above ground, like a Dementor. And yet it was not a Dementor—Lucius could feel neither cold nor any particular fear. Sirius, however, was trembling all over.

“Don't come near him! Get out of here!” he screamed, waving the stick.

His lips were quivering, and his eyes glistened, as if full of tears. Sirius was frightened, but like a true Gryffindor, he was meeting the danger head on.

“Why are you defending him, Sirius?” the dull voice was wrapping them in fog. “You know you're going to lose either way. As usual, you won't be able to protect anyone from me. Everything's been predetermined a long time ago. Go away, Sirius. I will take him, as I took all your friends.”

“No!”

Sirius sprang forward and struck at his opponent with the stick, but it went right through without harming him. The figure laughed.

“Run, there is nothing you can do! As usual. You fear me too much to stand in my way.”

“Lucius, run, go!”

Maybe that really was the right thing to do. Death—and Lucius had no doubt that this was indeed Death—had no intention of harming Sirius, but as for himself, he wasn't so sure. Once again he touched the diadem, but had no time to take it off before Black ran up to them, accompanied by the dog.

“Shove off!” he practically growled, standing shoulder to shoulder with his double.

“You can't hide from me, Sirius. You fear me and have no faith in yourself. You're a coward.”

“No!”

“You're afraid that you'll lead me again to those you love.”

Sirius squeezed his eyes shut.

“I am afraid,” he whispered. “But if I do nothing but fear, I will never overcome you!”

 


	12. Chapter 12

He'd missed this moment the last time—hadn't seen the two Blacks become one. But now... Their arms touched, a dark fog billowed around their bodies, and then immediately evaporated in rays of bright light. For a split second they were almost transparent, glowing, like ghosts. In the blink of an eye their two shapes flowed into one, and took on the flesh and form of Sirius Black. He rushed towards Death, but it evaporated instantly. Black looked around and turned to Lucius.

“Malfoy, are you okay?”

“Was that Death?”

He nodded.

“Yes, and no. That was my fear of Death. As you can see, I overcame it, and it disappeared. Forever, I hope.”

Lucius smiled.

“And are you okay, Black?”

The other tilted his head, as if listening to something inside himself.

“I'm fine. Only...”

“What?”

“Still no heartbeat.”

The dog ran up to Lucius and pressed his head into his knees. He patted the shaggy head. _So, not all the puzzle pieces have been put together._ The heart remained. The first time Black merged into one was when he needed his memories. The second time—when he needed courage. That meant that to regain his heart, he needed feelings. Feelings... which should have turned to ashes a long time ago. Although Black's behavior hinted at the opposite, and, if he was being honest, it seemed that his own feelings hadn't burned out completely, either.

Black held out a hand, and Lucius grabbed on to it and pulled himself up. He was in no hurry to let go of the dry palm. _If I'm right, why waste time?_

“Take off your clothes, you'll catch cold.” He realized he could have hardly come up with a more idiotic excuse in that whole dream-world to get a potential lover to undress.

He expected the other to snarl at him, to begin protesting, but as usual, he guessed wrong. He always guessed wrong when it came to Black's reaction, the first time as much as the last. And so his entire life. Black's gray coat hit the ground, and he wiped his face dry and threw his damp shirt after it.

“You should get undressed, too.” He smirked and untied the string that held up his trousers. “So you don't catch cold. And we both know what a delicate princess you are, Malfoy.”

There were mischievous sparks dancing in his eyes. _Did Black catch on?_ Did he understand what needed to be done to regain himself?

He looked over Black's lean figure. As slim as he used to be—only now far from boyish—solid chest covered with hair, tight stomach, ribs crisscrossed by scars. Face still handsome, still free of wrinkles, even, but the body clearly showing traces of hardship and time. Lucius pulled his own clinging shirt off over his head, shook out his hair and glanced sideways at Black. The man was standing, still holding up his pants, and staring at him with his mouth slightly open and his tongue touching his upper lip.

His eyes were... burning. Yes, burning, just like they did when he was young, when he could barely wait for Narcissa to leave to visit her friends, and would burst into the Manor, throw Lucius down unto the grass and fuck him right there in the park...

The memories were arousing. Lucius licked his suddenly-dry lips. _Why am I flustered?_

Black took a couple steps towards him and carefully ran his hand over his chest, in the region of his heart.

“It's beating,” he whispered hoarsely.

Lucius smiled and repeated the gesture. The skin under his hand was hot, but he could feel no heart beat. It was strange. Black interpreted the gesture correctly, and smiled slightly.

“No, I really don't have it. But that won't get in our way, believe me.”

“But Black, without a heart, how can you...?”

“I don't know. But we'll try. We are going to try, aren't we?” It was not a question.

Black's hand hovered over his chest, and his thumb touched a nipple, which hardened immediately. Lucius inhaled with a hiss—the sensation was unexpectedly sharp, as if he'd touched a bare nerve. Lucius ran his hand over the other man's chest as well, and Black's smile widened. In another moment they were kissing frantically, almost gnawing into each other, trying to communicate the things that had never been said out loud. Black's hand tightened in Lucius's hair, and pulled his head back slightly, dominating him, and he realized he was submitting. He wanted to submit.

Their bodies clung to each other, seeking to become one inseparable whole. There was only one heart, but it was beating hard enough for two.

Bruises, scratches, abrasions... Black slid his hands over them, then his lips, and the wounds healed from his touch right in front of their eyes. Lucius felt his strength return. Lips to lips, hand to hand, eye to eye, soul to soul. Black's skin tasted like ashes, it burned under his hands, as if he was on fire inside. Lucius licked off that ashy taste, kissed it off, and Black's unhealthy gray pallor was disappearing. Black seemed to come alive under his touches, and pressed into him tighter. Lucius lifted his head and looked into his eyes—a sly smile, a devilish look in his blue eyes—all just like before. Suddenly Black twisted out of his embrace and came up from behind him. His hands touched his hair, then flipped it forward, his lips pressed into his neck.

“You missed me, Malfoy, didn't you?” His hard cock pressed into the cleft of his arse.

A shiver ran down his back, then turned into coiling heat low in his belly.

“And what about you, Black?” He turned his head, and Black pulled him closer by the waist and started kissing him again.

He needed no other answer. His whole body clung to Black, craving to feel him with every cell, to take everything that he could give, and to give him anything that he demanded. Hot hands were sliding over his arms, shoulder-blades, waist, running over his arse cheeks.

“I want...” Black whispered right in his ear, and ran his tongue over his earlobe.

Lucius wanted it, too. He closed his eyes tightly, squeezed his erection through his clothes, and then reached for the clasp and opened his trousers. He stepped out of them, took a couple of steps to a large boulder lying nearby, rested his arms on it, and leaned over. That open, defenseless, candid pose... his whole nature protested against turning his back to an enemy. Except Black was not an enemy now.

Tender hands ran down his back, making his blood run faster, then dropped to his buttocks, caressing them, spreading them apart. Lucius arched his back and spread his legs wider. He couldn't wait to feel Black inside him. The other bent down, kissing one arse cheek, then the other, then biting down on it. Lucius cried out, but not from pain—the bite echoed through him with a sharp pleasure. Waves of arousal rolled through his body, his hands shook.

“Black...” he moaned.

“Stop fussing, Malfoy. It's all going to happen.” Black's voice was breaking.

He parted his arse cheeks and licked him a couple of times from his scrotum all the way up to his tail bone. Lucius howled and almost collapsed with his chest on the stone. No one could ever turn him on the way Black could.

“Enough...” he whispered with effort.

“Do you want it?”

Black squeezed his balls lightly and ran his hand over his cock.

“Yes! God, Black...”

“Been a long time, has it? Yeah, Malfoy?”

_Insolent bastard!_ Black bit him again lightly and stood up. The head of his cock touched his anus. _Almost no lube... no!_ His muscles tightened reflexively, but Lucius made an effort to relax. He shut his eyes tightly in anticipation of pain. Black yanked his hips back, pushing almost halfway in with one thrust, but there was no pain. Black slipped into him too easily, as if he hadn't noticed any resistance. It seemed that in this world, as in a dream, sex had none of the usual discomforts, and the pleasure came right away. He just wanted Black deeper inside, to press against him tighter, with his whole body. Lucius thrust his hips back, impaling himself on the cock inside him.

“Yes...”

They both moaned at the same time, and Black latched onto his shoulder with his teeth. Their souls seemed to merge. Lucius could feel not just Black's movements, but his thoughts and emotions as well. The purely physical pleasure was becoming something more—something truly important, as if it wasn't their bodies touching, but their souls.

At first they moved slowly—they needed to, in order to fully feel each other. But slowly lust took over and Black couldn't hold out any more. He growled and drove in faster, more ferociously. And Lucius, almost mindless from this unnatural closeness, forgetting himself, moved with him. His arms and legs no longer held him up. He collapsed onto the boulder, and Black covered him so that he was almost lying on top of him, not stopping for a moment.

A burst of pleasure flared down his spine, his back and arse were scorched with heat. Suddenly he felt incredibly light, as if he'd flown out of his own body.

“Black...”

“Lucius!”

They grew still, shuddering with ecstasy. The sky above them blazed with emerald colors, and for a moment their vision darkened.


	13. Chapter 13

_That's it. This is it, finally._

Black—now whole and with color in his cheeks—was dozing sweetly on his chest, frowning slightly in his sleep. Lucius's whole body seemed to feel the beating of his heart, completely steady now. He was just sleeping.

_What next?_ Could he consider his mission accomplished? He touched the diadem, ran the tips of his fingers over the stones, then lowered his hand to Black's head. He caressed him lightly, carding the damp black strands through his fingers. But if Black was whole and no longer going insane, why did this world still exist? Perhaps he himself was keeping Black here with his presence?

Black stirred and opened his eyes.

“I have a heart again.” He smirked. “It turns out _you_ are my heart.”

“Spare me the melodrama, Black. Get up. You're fine now, I can go back. We'll meet out there.”

“Out there? Where's 'there'?” He frowned. “Wait, so it's all true? About the Archway?”

“What, you thought I made it all up just to get you to sleep with me?”

“Wouldn't put it past you...” he chuckled and ran his fingers over Lucius's chest.

“Don't flatter yourself, Black.” The blue eyes flashed with anger. “I just needed to return your sanity to you. I hope I was successful and now you can recover yourself in the real world and become a functional member of society.”

“No one is waiting for me out there.”

“What do you mean, no one? What about Potter? Harry Potter,” he elaborated when he saw Black start.

Black sat up, gripping his knees with his hands, and hid his face behind his long hair. Was he offended? Upset? Crying over his friends?

“It's time for me to go.” Lucius got up.

“Hold on a bit. I don't know what will happen 'out there,' but here I still remember. He's hunting you, Lucius. He's been hunting you for a long time. I have this feeling that it was you he sent me back for. Be... careful.”

“Who's he, Black?”

“Death.” His heart skipped a beat. “Who else could have sent me back?”

It would have been better for him to remain ignorant—he didn't want to live in expectation of Death hunting him, getting inexorably nearer.

“You shouldn't have said that, Black.”

Lucius squeezed the stone in the diadem, took it off and closed his eyes. The ground under his feet disappeared and his insides were twisted with pain. Suddenly he could not get enough air, his head spun. In a moment he felt like he was surfacing from underwater. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes.

“He's awake! Get Spot!” he heard someone yell.

Lucius tried to get up, but the chair was still holding him firmly in place.

“Let me go!”

“Hold on, hold on, wait a moment...” the voice was unfamiliar.

Lucius tried to look around, but couldn't even move his neck. Luckily the silver grate, which had recently imprisoned the black dog, was right in front of his eyes. This time a naked man with a tangled mane of hair was lying behind it. Lucius felt a weight lift from his heart. _It worked._

“I had no idea that you would manage it so quickly! Nice job!” Spot had run into the room. “Well boys, why don't you go ahead and free our hero? Moon, check on Sirius, we need to make sure he's alright. Lucius, how are you feeling?”

“Let. Me. Go.”

“Of course, of course, don't worry, my dear.”

He waved his wand, and Lucius felt the chair release him. He sprang up with a single movement... and almost crashed to the floor. His legs were not obeying him. Spot caught him by the elbow.

“But why are you in such a hurry, Lucius? Of course, the Chair of Null Time assisted in making sure nothing happened to your body while you were traveling, but still—you have to become acclimated first!”

“How long was I gone?”

“A week.”

“How long?!” he made an attempt to strangle Spot, but someone grabbed his hands from behind.

“There, there, Lucius, no need to carry on so. Drink this.” A vial with some kind of potion was brought to his lips, but he turned away.

“What have you told my wife?” He had given up trying to break out of the man's firm grip.

Maybe he would get the chance to punch Spot's leering mug sometime later.

“The truth. That you were on assignment.”

“And she believed you?”

“I think so, yes.” He shrugged and gave him a toothy grin. “You did a good deed—I'd had no idea you would be successful on the first try. I didn't even dare hope you could go so deep into the nightmare world of your darling Sirius.”

“He isn't mine,” snarled Lucius, then threw a glance at Black. He was still unconscious. “How is he?”

“Moon, how is Sirius?”

“Seems alright.” The Unspeakable was kneeling over Black and tracing his wand over him. “Bit malnourished, but we'll fix that right quick.”

“You hear that? Everything is fine. You did it, congratulations.”

His arms were finally released.

“May I go?”

“Wouldn't you like to wait until he comes to?”

Lucius examined Black with what he thought was a careless glance.

“No.”

“Then I dare not detain you any longer. The artifacts will be delivered to your manor tomorrow morning, as per our agreement. Just don't forget to open your fireplace to us.”

“I won't.”

Spot smirked. Lucius could not resist, and tried to deck him, but the man ducked easily and intercepted his hand.

“I understand how you feel, but I cannot permit you to strike me. Calm down, after all, you came out ahead.”

Lucius took a deep breath, trying to control his emotions. This man's very existence seemed to make him loose his composure. Spot let go of his hand, smiled and patted his shoulder.

“Gray, please escort our hero out. Lucius, see you later. We might come to you again with some interesting proposal...”

“Don't bother,” he sneered in lieu of a farewell.

  
  


The Manor met him with silence and park avenues covered in yellow leaves. Narcissa, contrary to his expectation, did not meet him in the hall, but in the small drawing room. She was wearing severe visiting robes. _Strange..._ Usually Narcissa dressed less formally at home. When he came in, she rose from her chair smoothly.

“Narcissa.” Lucius made his way to her, but she held up her hand, stopping him.

“So you returned after all.”

He smiled.

“As you see.”

“I begged you not to get involved.”

“But Narcissa...”

“I. Begged. You. Can you even imagine what was happening to me?! You went to the Ministry, and disappeared!”

She lifted her chin. Her eyes were practically throwing lightning bolts. _A true Black._

“I couldn't have let you know! I didn't even know myself!”

“Yes. As usual...”

She made a disparaging noise, but then smiled weakly, came up to him and ran a hand over his cheek.

“Sirius is back.”

“Yes, I already figured that out from the look in your eyes.”

She frowned and bowed her head.

“Narcissa, look, I'm sorry. If I had known...”

“Then you would have done the same exact thing. Lucius, don't. I've known you for almost forty years now—you never change at all. Always the same...”

“Then you should be used to it by now.”

He caught her hand and kissed her open palm.

“I am, but I'm also very tired. And a Sirius who owes you a debt...” She pulled away decisively. “No, Lucius, I can't go on like this any more.”

“Narcissa, what are you saying? It was just a deal with the Department of Mysteries. And Black—Sirius Black—doesn't know the meaning of a debt, anyway. I don't think I'll ever see him again.”

“Oh, you are very wrong, Lucius. He will not forget what you've done for him.” She ran a hand over her brow. “If he comes to you, what will you do? Say no to him?”

“I will.”

He looked her in the eyes, but she just smiled sadly and shook her head.

“No Lucius, you will not say no to him. You've been lying to yourself for many years now, thinking you've burned him out of your heart. Believe me, it's not true.”

“What you're saying—it's nonsense!”

“Oh, if only it were! Lucius, you are dear to me, but this can't go on. I'm going to stay with our son for now, I need some time to think.”

“You're leaving?!”

“Yes, everything is ready. I just wanted to wait for you, to make sure you're alright.”

“But Narcissa, you know that nothing is alright! You... you're leaving me?”

He could not believe it.

“I don't know.” She looked away from him. “But it's better for us to live separately for now.”

“I thought we would travel together. A second honeymoon...”

“Your third.” She smiled bitterly. “Maybe another time.”

She rushed up to him and embraced him.

“I'll write you.”

“Where are you going?”

She kissed his cheek.

“France, for now. After that, we'll see.”

“I'll come to you...”

Narcissa smiled, and for a moment he thought he saw tears glistening in her eyes.

“If you like.”

She practically ran out of the drawing room, and a minute later she was gone from the Manor.


	14. Chapter 14

With Narcissa's departure, loneliness came crashing down on him. Lucius had never paid much attention to his wife, and he understood only now how much he needed her. Her quiet support had kept him from falling into complete melancholy, but now there was nothing to hold it back.

That evening he got drunk, and almost forgot to open the fireplace to the Unspeakables. At exactly ten in the morning they carried in a Charmed crate containing artifacts and books, and he spent two hours going over the list with them, to make sure everything specified in the contract was delivered safe and sound. Everything was in good order, as expected. _How boring._ Lucius spent the rest of the day returning the relics to their rightful places. At least this distracted him somewhat from his heavy thoughts.

The next day, an official notification arrived, informing him that the investigation into the Dark Mark was complete. Of course, the Wizengamot was in no hurry to revoke the traveling ban, which meant that the reconciliation with his wife would have to be postponed indefinitely. On the other hand, the Prophet finally ran the long-awaited sensational news that, thanks to the efforts of the Department of Mysteries, Sirius Black was returned. The rest of the issue was dedicated to the story of his life, the tragedy of his disappearance, and to various interviews. And there was not a single word mentioning that it was Lucius Malfoy who helped him return. But this was no more than what he expected. Lucius glanced distractedly over the interviews with Potter, Andromeda, the Minister and Gringott's goblins, over the photographs... Black looked terribly worn out, but happy.

When Lucius caught himself smiling as he stared at Black's photograph, he threw the newspaper down and incinerated it with a wave of his wand. No, Black could not mean anything to him! He merely fulfilled his duty, and the fact that he and Black fucked—that was nothing special. Feelings were not necessary for sex, anyway. But he couldn't deny that when he was with Black, for some reason he felt wonderfully good. Suddenly he wanted another drink, but he resisted the urge and got up from the table with determination. It would be better to dedicate his time to work. Something to distract him, such as trying to contact suppliers of rare ingredients, for example.

A large black owl was waiting for him in his study. It was sitting on the windowsill with its feathers ruffled sullenly; there was a small dark box tied to its leg. The moment Lucius freed the owl of its burden, it fluttered out the window. There was no inscription on the package. He had no intention of taking a risk by opening some mysterious container. He called a house elf and ordered her to take the package to the edge of the Manor grounds and peek into the box. She vanished, then reappeared a moment later with the open box in her hands. There was a note and a wand at the bottom.

“There is no danger, master.” The elf bowed.

_Something is off here._ Lucius Summoned the note. The handwriting was unfamiliar.

“As a token of my gratitude for saving my godfather, I would like to give you this wand. Mr. Olivander said that it will choose anyone who picks it up. Since there are restrictions on your own wand, you can use this one until they are lifted. Thank you again. Harry Potter.”

His intuition screamed that this was a trap. Harry Potter could not have done anything like this, it just made no sense. Of course, the boy was known for a certain disregard for the law, but to give an untraceable wand to a former Death Eater? _No. Never._

“Tippy, go to the edge of the grounds and...”

The house wards shivered, notifying him of a breach. Interrupting himself, Lucius grabbed his own wand and ran out into the hall. He looked out the window cautiously, and saw a Grim standing in the lane.  _Black. But how?_ Lucius rushed outside. 

“What are you doing here?!” He pointed the wand at him, although he was not sure he was capable of casting a curse at Black. 

There was an explosion behind him. Lucius was thrown forward. In the same instant, Black turned human and covered him with his body. The ground rocked again. Lucius put his arms over his head. Crumbling stone and slivers of glass rained down from above; a column collapsed and shattered right beside them.

They lay unmoving for some time, but nothing else happened. Lucius stirred. A sudden pain pierced his arm.

“Black, get off me.”

Black stayed pressed into him for another moment, then raised himself with an effort and fell back down next to him.

“What is the meaning of all this?”

“The Grim comes to the condemned,” Black explained, rather incoherently.

Lucius raised his wounded arm and inspected it—it had been slashed in several places by shrapnel. A matter of moments. He raised his wand, recited a spell, and the wounds began to close.

“Are you alright, Black?”

He nodded, moved a little, and winced.

“I bruised my knee when I fell on top of you, but it's not that bad. Is Narcissa in the house?”

“If she were in there, I would not be lolling about here with you. No, she left the country, and I'm here alone, not counting the elves. So, what happened, Black?”

He shrugged and looked away.

“You were supposed to die.”

“Oh, right, the Grim...” he smirked. “Except, according to legend, those it appears to cannot be saved.”

“Unless the Grim itself intervenes.” Black smiled weakly.

“Explain.”

He closed his eyes and winced.

“It's hard to explain... I'm the Hound of Death. He let me go, granting me the ability to see the condemned and to appear in their path, but in return he took away my own self. He took away my mind, my feelings, my self-confidence. But you gave me back all that. Now I'm myself again, but I still remain the Hound of Death.”

“You figured out that I was supposed to die, and decided to save me? How noble! Well, consider us even. I saved you, you saved me. It's great. Now you can go. I have to call the Aurors now and sort out what happened here.”

“Malfoy, why do you always have to be such a...”

“A what?”

“As if you don't care. As if you could spit on everything that happened between us.”

“Was there something between us?” Lucius raised an eyebrow when he saw Black's face change from astonishment to a distorted grimace of rage.

In a split second Black was pressing him into the ground.

“Listen, you... If you think that everything is over, well, fuck that! I told you that he's hunting you, and it's the truth. That's why I...” he paused, “I'm not going anywhere.”

“Black...”

Black interrupted him by smashing their mouths together. At first Lucius resisted, but then gave in to the assault and opened his mouth, letting in Black's tongue. The kiss was tinged with a slight bitterness, but it tasted surprisingly sweet to him.  _After all, it's not love._ He was just trying to save his own life, as usual. And the good sex could be considered a pleasant bonus thrown into the bargain. And the fact that his heart was pounding, as if yearning to leap out of his chest, and his soul was overflowing with something resembling happiness... well, he could just consider that an insignificant side effect.


End file.
